


A Week on Rogue's Mountain

by Chichirinoda



Series: Rogue's Mountain [1]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Auctions, Collars, Humour, M/M, Rogues Being Rogues, Survival Horror, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, tropey as fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 13:57:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 65,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6613291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chichirinoda/pseuds/Chichirinoda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard Snart has organized a special Christmas-time retreat for all his closest pals. Unfortunately for Barry Allen... there's a secret Santa auction, and he's on the block. </p><p>Also, there might be ghosts.</p><p>Set sometime between "Rogue's Air" and "Family of Rogues". Some details may be fudged for fan-service reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First (Annual) Rogues Retreat

**Author's Note:**

> Super thanks to my beta reader Mikonoda!

The First, intended-to-be-Annual - traditions had to start somewhere - Rogues Retreat was in full swing. Leonard Snart had rented a chalet up in the mountains some distance from Central City, for the week between Christmas and New Year. He hadn’t been able to resist the choice for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the fact that this particular peak was called _Rogue’s Mountain_. It was also beautiful and well off the beaten path, as the majority of winter tourism was dominated by better hills elsewhere on the range. Snow fell softly all around, pure and white and clean, breached only by a series of tire tracks coming up the drive from the arrival of the dozen or so of Leonard’s closest comrades.

It had been a good year for Leonard Snart. A challenging year, what with the explosion at STAR Labs, and the emergence of the Flash - but a _good_ year. He had obtained himself the cold gun, reconnected with his best friend Mick Rory, and taken over the Santini crime family’s position in Central City. In fact, he counted the Flash, overall, on the positive side of the ledger. Battling the Flash had brought new life and _zest_ to a criminal career that had started to become routine and honestly, too easy. 

So when Lisa suggested that they celebrate, he had been more than happy to agree, and also to bankroll the whole deal. It had been a good year for his pocketbook, as well.

He stood now on the veranda, looking down on the drive. There was one last vehicle approaching, the bright headlights cutting through the night and making the snow sparkle. The entire chalet grounds was a couple of acres, encircled by a high fence to keep out the animals and trespassers. Higher in the mountains were walking trails, even places to ski and snowmobile, but there was plenty of room to stretch out without ever leaving the property. And the snow fell so prettily. The whole place was a goddamn paradise for Captain Cold, from the rich, dark wood finishes, to the huge stone fireplaces, to the picture-perfect icicles lining the edges of the rooftops. The central great-room would be a perfect place for drinking, games and merriment, and as the leader, Len had claimed the biggest room for his own - the ‘Presidential’ suite at the end of the furthest wing, where he’d not only have his own fireplace and amenities, but privacy as well.

Now all he had to do was make sure the Rogues didn’t all kill each other by the end of the week.

The massive black SUV rolled to a stop in front of the chalet. Len knew who was coming, but this car surprised him. It almost looked like a hearse, which was not at all what he would picture this particular Rogue driving. Of course, he had almost certainly stolen it shortly before making the drive.

The window rolled down and James Jesse grinned brightly from the driver’s seat. “ _Special delivery_ for Mr. Snart!” he said brightly, giving a giggle. Len smiled and walked down the wooden steps, boots thumping on the wood, and leaned against the driver’s side window, trying to take a peek inside, as the tinted windows gave no hint of who or what might be in the vehicle with James. The Trickster’s son sat sullenly in the passenger seat, and there was someone else in the back - no, someone else in the _trunk_ , not the back seat. He - or she - was shifting around, making soft noises, but Len was pretty sure the figure had a burlap sack over their head.

“Oooh, did you bring me a present?” Len purred, though inwardly his mind was racing. Inviting the Trickster had been - well, he’d _known_ it was a bad idea from the start, but the problem with the Trickster was that if you didn’t invite him to the party, he was likely to just crash it anyway. With explosions. Inviting the unpredictable psychopath had been the better of two terrible options. It would only have been worse if Jesse had felt snubbed.

“Wrapped up in a _bow_ ,” James beamed. “Though he may not be for you. It’s for the auction, of _course_ , so if you want him, you’re going to have to put your money where your mouth is~”

Him. The idea that it might be a bunch of hookers evaporated - that wouldn’t have been a _fantastic_ idea, either, but it would’ve been acceptable given the situation. One prostitute wasn’t going to be nearly enough for nearly a dozen Rogues, though, so that couldn’t be it. Maybe Jesse had brought a male stripper. 

No, that was dumb. Most of the Rogues were men, and most of _those_ were probably straight.

Len sighed inwardly, but kept his dismay off of his face. Whatever James had planned, he’d deal with it. As part of a rather long list of ways he and Lisa had come up with to keep everyone entertained, Len had suggested they hold an auction on the first night, as a sort of secret Santa without the utter lameness of trying to figure out what a random person you barely knew outside of work might want to receive. Everyone had to bring something of value they’d gotten in a heist, and they’d _buy_ them off of each other. He’d brought a Jackson Pollock he was now bored of and didn’t mind losing.

He shrugged and stepped back, gesturing towards the multi-car garage where the rest of the Rogues had parked their vehicles. “Pull in there and bring him into the lobby. You’re late. We were about to start without you.”

“Oh _Leonard_ ,” James said indulgently. “Always so _punctual_.” He grinned, eyes too bright. “I promise, you’re going to _love_ what I’ve brought.” He drove off, singing a Christmas carol at the top of his lungs, and Len headed inside. Hopefully someone had spiked the punch by now. He had a feeling he was going to need a drink very soon.

* * *

“Lenny!” Lisa trotted over the moment he entered the chalet. He stamped the snow from his boots and walked inside, noting that the inside of the chalet was already bright and cheerful and warm. Mick sat immediately in front of a roaring fire in the great-room, mesmerized by the flames he had almost certainly been in charge of bringing to life, and holding his heat gun across his lap. Well, at least the flames were contained inside the fireplace. Mick had been told _in no uncertain terms_ that he got to light all the fires, but only on the condition that he keep them under control.

Other than the oblivious Mick Rory, people sat and stood in twos and threes, holding glasses and chatting. 

So far, no one was dead.

Len smiled and let her take his hand. “Hey, sis. Everything okay?”

“Everything’s _great_ ,” she fluttered. “We’re almost ready to start. Did James and Axel arrive?”

“Just now. They’re parking.”

She led him across the large room towards the back, where all of the auction offerings had been set up in a row near the well-stocked bar. His painting was there, next to some kind of device with lights on it that had probably been contributed by Hartley. Jewellery, expensive wine, and all the rest of the offerings sat lined up in a neat row. 

As Len looked over the options, he heard the overall murmur in the room quiet down. Hartley reached out and tapped the ipod in its dock, and the quiet tinkle of Christmas instrumental music stopped as well. Len felt his expression tighten slightly. They were all waiting for him to say something. He remembered the day a few months ago when he’d stood up to record a broadcast of Caitlin Snow that would appear on every channel. His stomach had flipped over just like this, and he knew that the nervousness he felt at all that attention only made him look more fearsome. 

He turned and faced the room. It wasn’t even that many people - seven Rogues, all of whom owed him something, whether it was their loyalty or their life. And nearly all of whom were vicious metahumans who could give the Flash a run for his money. Of course, that was a large part of why they were here. Why they were useful to him.

“Welcome,” Leonard Snart purred, his hand dropping down to caress the handle of his cold gun automatically as his eyes flicked from face to face. “Glad you could all make it. I’m going to start the bidding in a few moments, just as soon as our last two guests—”

At that moment, the door to the garage opened up. James Jesse entered with a flamboyant spreading of his hands. “ _Ladies and gentlemen_ , I hope you can forgive our tardiness. My son and I stopped to pick up something very _special_ for our festivities tonight.” He stepped back, gesturing. 

Axel dragged someone through the door. As Len had surmised, he was bound hand and foot, and had a burlap sack tied around his head. Axel was having a little trouble keeping him contained, even still, and James stepped forward quickly. Len thought it was to help his son, but instead he just reached down and whipped off the sack.

But even before he had done so, most of the Rogues had jumped to their feet, the silence broken and rising from a confused mutter into a dull roar of shock and amazement. Len stood stock still, his eyes wide, fixed on that incredibly familiar red suit. That unmistakable symbol on his chest.

Even before the face was revealed, eyes blinking at the sudden rush of light and wide with terror behind his mask as they rolled from side to side, no one in the room had any doubt who it was.

James Jesse had brought the Flash to his party.

“Let the _bidding_ begin,” James exclaimed, hands spreading wide with glee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about warnings: I'm not putting the non-con tag on this fic, because I really don't think it warrants it at all, but you should be warned that there is definitely some boundary-pushing and unwanted touching, particularly in the early chapters. It will definitely not go down the non-con rabbit-hole, if that's a concern for you, though.


	2. That's Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do I hear five thousand for this pretty, young thing?

Barry had no idea where he was, and he was as terrified as he had ever been since the lightning hit him. 

Earlier that day, he’d surprised the Trickster planting bombs inside presents at the base of the big tree outside city hall. Or so he’d thought. No sooner had he confronted him, but something had hit him from behind, and he’d blacked out, only to wake trussed up, blind and gagged in the back of an SUV. He had no idea how long he’d been out, and it was obvious that whatever the Trickster had done, he was alone. His communicator had been removed from his suit, or disabled somehow. He couldn’t even vibrate out of the chains he was wearing, though he’d tried several times during the interminable drive. He could only hope and pray that the GPS signal was still working.

But when they finally arrived, he had revised that hope. He hoped like hell that Cisco and Caitlyn stayed well away and didn’t try to rescue him. Nearly every free metahuman he had fought was in this room, along with Captain Cold, Heat Wave, Golden Glider, and Pied Piper. If anyone came to rescue him, they couldn’t possibly know what they’d be walking into.

It seemed like the criminals were surprised as well, though. Everyone was on their feet by now. 

Axel forced him down to his knees, a hand holding fast to the back of the weird metal collar affixed around his neck. The gag that had been stuffed into his mouth tasted faintly of motor oil and smelled like pine, but that wasn’t the reason he felt like gagging. His stomach roiled with fear. Barry’s mind raced, searching for a way out, and his eyes flicked around the room, seeing nothing but unfriendly faces. 

Mark Mardon, aka Weather Wizard, took a couple of steps towards them, eyes lighting up. “Take off his mask! Let’s see who the bastard really is.” Barry’s stomach flipped over again as cheers rose up around the room. Honestly, it was a miracle that James hadn’t unmasked him immediately. It was probably only his penchant for showmanship that had kept Barry’s identity a secret this long. His eyes flicked to Leonard Snart, who at least already knew his identity and had never told, but the cold, forbidding expression on Snart’s face told him that he’d receive no help from that quarter.

“Hey, that’s mine!” 

The cheers and exclamations that had started up at Mark’s suggestion cut off and everyone turned to look in confusion at Hartley, who was pointing at Barry.

“Not yours _yet_ , Hart my dear boy,” James purred, patting Barry proprietarily on the shoulder. Barry’s skin crawled. “Would you like to enter a bid?” Why were they talking like he was going to be auctioned off to the highest bidder? What would happen after that?

“No, no, that’s not— That _collar_ , and the cuffs. I made those,” Hartley protested, pointing again. 

James beamed. “ _Yes_ , indeed. Indeed you did. And _thank_ you for that.”

“What are they, Rathaway?” Snart asked bitingly.

Hartley looked around, flushing slightly as he seemed to realize that all eyes were on him now. “I… I created that collar to subdue the Flash. It will pick up on his vibrations and counteract them, at a precisely opposite frequency. I-I mean, it likely will not suppress his speed force entirely, but he can’t remove the devices without the key, nor can he phase through them.”

“Ex~actly,” James beamed. “And with this little addition—” He tapped a tiny bulge affixed to the side of the collar. “We don’t have to worry about him leaving the party until we’re well and truly _done_ with him. _Not_ that I expect any of you to let him leave alive anyway, eh?” There was general agreement and laughter about that. James giggled again. “This little bomb is tuned to the perimeter fence around the grounds. He tries to leave, and _boom!_ ” He mimed an explosion around Barry’s head.

Barry felt like throwing up. 

Hartley still looked furious, likely because James had stolen his invention, but in all the hubbub and chatter he sat back down and just glared, apparently not intending to demand the return of his property immediately, given that it was being used for its intended purpose.

Mick Rory suddenly appeared at Barry’s shoulder, and leaned in close, inspecting him. “Seems like we should get started, then,” he rumbled in his deep voice. “I’ve got my eye on a few things I’d like.”

Barry tried and failed to suppress a shudder, but Mick was already straightening, turning away. “That ‘61 Domaine Leroy, who brought that?” he asked, pointing at a bottle of wine with a faded label on the bar. Barry noticed only now that there were several weird objects lined up, including a painting and some jewellery. Had he really been brought to some kind of mafia auction house?

“That was me, Rory,” said Roy Bivolo, perched on the back of a sofa. He waved a hand in the air.

“How much you want for it?”

He cocked his head. “I’ll take a thousand bucks.”

“Done.”

Rory walked over to the bar and picked up the bottle.

“Hey!” Lisa Snart exclaimed, flapping a hand at him. “That’s not how an auction works! You’re supposed to bid. There’s rules!”

Rory lifted his heat gun and looked significantly around the room. “Anyone else want to challenge me for this?” He was met with general silence, and then he looked back at Lisa, raising an eyebrow.

She huffed and folded her arms. “It’s probably gone to vinegar anyway,” she said, tossing her head. 

“So long as it’s still got alcohol in it, I don’t care,” Mick growled, and plunked himself down by the fire again. He sat turned to face Barry rather than the dancing flames, though, uncorking the bottle and drinking directly from it as he watched.

James was getting antsy. “Yes, _yes_ , well now that Mick’s got his wine, shall we get this show on the road? Do I hear five thousand for this fine young thing?” 

Mark immediately stuck up his hand. “Five.” 

“ _Six_ ,” snapped Kyle Nimbus.

Mark shrugged, and turned a challenging look on Kyle. “Seven.”

“Ten thousand!” Kyle retorted.

The two metahumans, both escapees from the Pipeline, went back and forth like that, the numbers growing bigger by increments. Both men were starting to sweat when they hit a hundred grand, but neither of them seemed like they wanted to back down. Barry wondered just how much money they had, and how much they were willing to spend for the chance to be the one to personally kill him, and why was this even his life?

And then— “One million.”

The room went dead silent. Everyone looked at Snart.

Captain Cold glared around the room. “I said. One million dollars.”

James was choking, but rallied quickly. “D-do I hear a million and one?” he squeaked. 

Silence.

Snart smiled, cold and cruel and malicious. “I guess he’s mine, then.” He stepped forward, boots thumping on the hardwood floor, retrieved a set of keys from James, and seized the collar from Axel. “Gonna put him away for later, so we can finish up the auction. Come on, Flash.” He pulled, and Barry had to get to his feet or choke. 

His legs were chained together, with cuffs around his ankles, but he could walk so long as it was only in short, shuffling steps. He struggled to keep up with Snart’s stride, gasping around the rough gag and tripping over his feet as Snart pulled him out of the room and down a long - endlessly, cruelly long - hallway. At the end of the hall was a pair of double doors, with the head of a fourteen-point buck mounted over it. The antlers spread the entire width of the hall. Snart keyed open the door and pulled him through. 

Beyond was a multi-room suite. The main room had a fireplace - unlit, and the room was _freezing_ \- and a sofa placed in front of it. A bearskin rug was on the floor, the polar bear’s head still attached and snarling up at them. Beyond another double-doorway, Barry saw the biggest four-poster bed he had ever seen. Snart tugged him towards it, and Barry finally protested, his voice muffled by the gag in his mouth.

Snart ignored the muffled protest, hauling him to the bed. The collar had a short length of chain attached to it, which Snart wrapped around one of the posts and locked into place. Only then, did he pull the gag out of Barry’s mouth.

“Stop! What—Why are you doing this? What are you going to do to me?” Barry exclaimed, cringing back away from the mobster against the pillows. His heart was beating so fast it didn’t even register as individual beats. Lightning flickered over his skin, and he was vibrating hard enough to make the bed creak, but the collar remained firmly, stubbornly in place.

“Shut up, _Barry_ ,” Leonard growled. “You just cost me a million bucks.”

“I didn’t make you—”

“I said _shut up_.”

Barry’s mouth snapped closed, eyes wide. He’d never seen Snart look so angry before. There was a moment of silence, Barry’s heart continuing to beat wildly, as cold blue eyes bored into his skin. The anger simmered, but there was something calculating there as well. 

“That’s better,” Leonard finally said, his voice dropping back into a more satisfied register. “First of all, if you’d _rather_ go to Mardon or Nimbus, I could always take you back out there and withdraw my bid. There’s a pretty nice cut crystal vase I was eying, that would have looked good with my collection, and it sure wouldn’t have been as expensive as you were.”

Barry wasn’t really sure how to answer that, so he said nothing.

Leonard nodded, as if he’d given the response he had been hoping for. “Now, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to stay here for now, and I’m going to go out and finish hosting my auction. Then everyone out there is probably going to get drunk and stupid, and I’ll come back here and we’ll discuss your situation and how you’re going to repay me for my generosity. You’ll _behave_ , and I won’t kill you. You cause trouble, I might revise my position. Understood?”

Barry hesitated, then nodded. 

“Good, now how do I take off this suit?” He reached out towards him, and Barry cringed away again.

“W-what? No! I don’t want you to take it off.”

“Tough.”

Leonard caught him by the collar again and pushed him down onto the bed. With the chains binding him hand and foot, there was little Barry could do to stop him from pulling off the cowl and unzipping the suit once he’d found the way to do it. Leonard straddled him and coldly and efficiently unlocked and relocked cuffs and pulled at fabric until the suit was completely off and Barry shivered in his underwear on the bed. He pulled as far away as the chain around his neck allowed, the very moment he could, drawing his knees up towards his chest and wrapping his bound arms around them.

Without a word, or even any further acknowledgment of Barry, Snart got up, bundled up the suit in his hands and headed for the door. 

“W-wait,” Barry exclaimed. “Snart, what are you going to do with me?”

Snart paused in the doorway and looked back, eyes travelling over him thoughtfully. “Barry, I just paid a million dollars for you. I’m going to do whatever the hell I want.”

Then he was gone, and Barry was alone in Captain Cold’s freezing bedroom.


	3. An Explicit Ban on Human Trafficking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snart's paid a million dollars for the Flash! So...now what? For once, Captain Cold is improvising, and he's not happy about it.

Snart was _seething_ as he walked back to the great-room. How stupid was Barry Allen, to have gotten himself kidnapped and brought up here, where Leonard was now going to have to stick his neck out to keep him alive? 

It didn’t exactly sit well with him that he had had to sacrifice so much to shut Mardon and Nimbus up and make sure that neither of them got to finish the fight they were having over the Flash like two mutts with a bone. A million dollars wasn’t exactly chump change to anyone, and Len was already starting to ponder which items in his collection could be liquidated to keep him in the black. He was good for it, of course - James Jesse wouldn’t be given any reason to doubt it - but it was still a hit to the pocket book in the short term. He might have stolen a lot of expensive things in his very successful career, but fencing stolen property - particularly of the calibre he dealt with - wasn’t always simple to do without attracting the wrong kind of attention. There weren’t a lot of people in the world with 25 mil hanging around looking to buy a painting without asking questions about where it came from - there were _some_ , but you didn’t want to glut the market, either. 

Len was as careful with selling the items as he was stealing them in the first place, which was a big reason why he didn’t actually _own_ a private island in the Caribbean - not that he wanted one, too hot - and instead had a number of storage units full of expensive things he was too busy to sell.

This whole week was shaping up to be more trouble than it had been worth.

He hid his emotions, though, keeping up the cold but not unfriendly mask he normally maintained in front of the Rogues. In fact, he had a distinct swagger as he walked back into the great-room, aware that the others were all turning towards him with various expressions of either curiosity or annoyance, depending on how they felt about the situation. Jesse was mixing himself a drink, humming cheerfully to himself. He, at least, had already made out like a bandit.

Pun intended.

“Well, you finished up quick, Snart,” Mardon said. Though he had been fighting as much as anyone to get a chance at Flash, he didn’t seem too put-off. If anything, he still looked eager. “There going to be anything left for us?”

“Not done with him,” Snart said. “Not even started. I didn’t want to hold up the _rest_ of the party for my own fun - that’d be rude.” He gestured to Lisa. “You want to get going, sis?”

“I thought _you_ were going to be the auctioneer, Lenny,” she demanded. She had been sitting at the bar while she waited, but now she jumped to her feet as she protested. 

“I’ve got things to do,” Leonard said. “You’ll be better at it, anyway. Go on.” 

He flapped a hand at her, and she rolled her eyes, but immediately picked out an item to start soliciting bids. Len virtually ignored the proceedings and walked over to Hartley, who seemed to have gotten over his sulk. He was watching Lisa from his place on a sofa in the corner, about as far from the other Rogues as he could get, and with full control over the ipod dock. 

Len shoved the suit into his hands. “I want you to find out everything you can about the tech in this,” he said, quietly so he wouldn’t distract from the auction. “If there’s any way that STAR Labs can use it to find or communicate with the Flash, I want it disabled. If we can’t disable it, then get Mick to destroy the suit with his heat gun. Start with the cowl, and when that’s clean, give that back to me. I want it done within the hour. Understand?”

Hartley Rathaway gazed at him with wide eyes as he rattled off his instructions, and nodded. “I understand. I’ll just—” He jumped to his feet, looking around. “All of my equipment’s in my suite. Do you mind bidding on that vase for me, Snart? Money’s no object.” 

Len eyed the vase - the one _he_ had wanted, but of course like any secret Santa, everyone only got one present, and someone had to have it. “Sure, kid. Go on.”

“Merci.” Hartley flashed a smile at him, then scurried off towards his room.

Leonard settled on the sofa, watching the group with sharp eyes as piece after piece was bid on, and distributed. His own painting went for a decent price, though nothing close to what it would have been on the open market. Still, it helped to make up for his own expenditures. 

Overall, the auction seemed to have been a success, despite the initial hiccup. And honestly, if it weren’t for his own opinion when it came to the Flash - that his job and the Rogues situation generally was better with the Flash in the city than without him - James’ particular kind of contribution wouldn’t have been a big issue.

Next year - if there _was_ a next year - he was going to put an explicit ban on human trafficking for the auction, though. He suspected it didn’t really fit with the spirit of the Rules.

As he predicted, once everyone had claimed their prizes and broken up to deliver them to their rooms, the group prepared to settle into an evening of drinking. Lisa had the emerald and gold broach she’d gotten - apparently brought by Mark Mardon, of all people - pinned to her dress when she flopped down on the sofa next to Len and handed him a scotch. 

“So,” she said, reclining and hooking a leg over his knee. He took a sip of the drink, the ice cubes clinking together as he tilted the glass. 

“So,” he replied, watching the room and counting each Rogue as they came back. If any of them had any intention of breaking into his room to sneak a peek at Barry, he would ice them. 

“You’re mad, aren’t you?”

He slid his gaze over to hers for a moment, then away. “Why would I be mad?”

She hummed, clearly unconvinced. “What’re you really going to do with him? You aren’t going to _kill_ him, are you?”

He snorted. “Of course not.”

Lisa snickered, then sobered. “You can’t just lock him up the whole week, though.”

He frowned, distracted. Nimbus was back, but where was Mard— oh there he was, returning with Shawna and taking his sweet time about it as he flirted with her. Everyone was accounted for, other than Hartley, but Len didn’t think he was all that interested in what the suit normally contained, other than the tech. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s the star of the party, now,” Lisa said softly. “If you just lock him up away to keep him safe, they’ll notice. They’ll want to see you have fun with him.”

“Lisa,” Snart said, his head coming around to stare at his sister. “I _know_. I’m not an idiot.” 

He saw a little tension in her shoulders relax. “Good, because I heard Mark talking to Shawna about her helping him to get into your room without you noticing it.” She sat up and kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t keep them waiting too long.” 

Snart gritted his teeth. “Lisa, he’s literally _naked_ right now. Hartley is analyzing the suit, but I doubt I can risk putting it back on him, and I’m sure Jesse didn’t bring him a change of clothing.”

She cocked her head thoughtfully. “I’ll find him something to wear, then. Come on - don’t try to tell me you aren’t looking forward to some part of this.” She leaned forward, mischief in her eyes.

He couldn’t quite stop himself from smiling. “Okay, yeah. I am.”

She grinned and got up. “I’ll go see what Hart has in his luggage. They’re both cute and skinny.”

Len watched her go, then resumed his vigil. He tried not to glare at Mardon. It looked like he was still trying to chat Shawna up, as they both poured themselves drinks and laughed. Soon a game of “Never have I” started up amongst the younger Rogues, which had Len rolling his eyes. In this crowd, a game like that was either intensely boring, or _very_ interesting. He finished his drink and got himself another, re-seating himself closer so he could listen in. 

Mick settled next to him, polishing off the bottle of wine. 

Len could almost forget there was a superhero in his bedroom. This easy camaraderie was exactly what he had been hoping for by agreeing to do this stupid retreat. No one was fighting. Most of them were drinking and having a good time as a group, and the rest were enjoying themselves solo.

Then Hartley emerged, holding the Flash’s cowl, and made a bee-line for the sofa where Len was sitting. He eyed Mick uncertainly, then offered it to Len. “It’s clean,” he said. “There’s some heat threading in it, but I can’t remove it without destroying the fabric itself. Most of the tech is contained in his chest symbol, and it looks as though Mr. Jesse destroyed the communicator in the earpiece before he even arrived. I’ve double checked already that the GPS unit has been properly neutralized, and I’ll determine what the rest of the tech does before I do anything else.”

“Good, Hartley,” Snart said approvingly, taking the cowl. “Feel free to steal anything you want to tinker with. So long as they can’t find him, the rest is yours.”

Hartley beamed at the praise, as well as the permission, and trotted off. Not terribly surprising that he wasn’t interested in joining in on the bottle-spinning on the floor, and the others weren’t exactly insisting that he join them. In fact, none of them were sparing a second glance towards the former STAR Labs nerd.

Len started to rise, but paused when Mick spoke at his shoulder. “You gonna go play with him?” he rumbled, glancing at him sidelong.

“Something like that,” he allowed. 

Mick grunted. “Good,” he said, settling back. “Been too long since you last got laid.”

“Mick, I’m not gonna _rape_ him.”

Mick arched a brow. “Missed opportunity, then.”

Len glared at him, then realized his best friend was doing a bad job of suppressing a smile. “I hate it when you make fun of me.”

“No you don’t. You hate it when you don’t _realize_ I’m making fun of you.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Len got to his feet and tucked the cowl under his arm. Time to go get Barry. The night was still young.

Outside his - still locked - door was a small stack of clothing. No doubt, Lisa had delivered them. He scooped them up and entered the room, letting out a breath as he closed the door and breathed in the cooler air in his own room. He had turned the thermostat down to 50 when he arrived and hadn’t lit the fire, leaving it bracing. Perfect for him, given his penchant for wearing sweaters and multiple layers.

Unfortunately, it was a bit cold for a naked boy without an ounce of extra fat on him. Oops.

Barry had somehow managed to maneuvre himself around enough despite the chains to grab hold of the duvet cover and pull it over himself. He was still shivering as Len wandered into the bedroom, though that could be from fear. He almost felt sorry for the kid.

“Brought you something,” Len said, dropping the stack of clothing on the bed. “Anyone come visit you while I was away?”

Barry shook his head, eying him with confusion. “No. Should they have?”

“Nope. This is my sanctuary. Only things that _belong_ to me, get to come in here. So if anyone does come in, you tell me and I’ll ice them.” Len sorted through the clothing Lisa had gotten. A soft sweater - black, Len’s favourite - and a pair of slacks, also black. Charming. He was going to look fetching as hell.

“You’re going to _kill_ one of your friends, if they come in here?” Barry exclaimed, eyes widening.

Seriously? Len stared at him. “If someone comes in here, first of all, you aren’t going to like the results for you _personally_ , even if all they do is learn your identity - and I seriously doubt that’s all they would do. Second of all - _yes_. They’re my crew, not my friends, and they should know the consequences of crossing me.”

“You can’t just—”

“I can, and I will, and you should thank me for it.”

Barry’s face was turning red with anger. “You want me to _thank_ you for this? For which part - the part where you kidnapped me? The part where you stripped me naked and left me here, all chained up?”

Len eyed him narrowly. “I didn’t kidnap you, Jesse did. I stripped you to make sure that your suit wouldn’t give you an opportunity to signal your friends at STAR Labs, because if they do come here, people are going to _die_ , and neither of us want that, do we?”

Barry still looked furious, but he reluctantly shook his head.

Len drew a breath and let it out. “You listen to me, kid. You think you know what’s going on, but you don’t have a fucking clue. I saved your _life_ tonight, and I’m going to keep on saving it until this party is over, and we can all go back to our lives. If you escape, if you _fuck this up for me_ and make me lose face in front of my people, then I won’t be the only one who gets screwed over. All the Rogues will be unattached, and there’ll be a power vacuum in the criminal underground. You want Mardon running amok in Central City without any controls on him? What about Mick Rory? What about _James Jesse_? I know you don’t like that they’re free at all, but I can assure you that a lot more people would have been hurt in the last year if it weren’t for our deal - you and me, and me honouring our bargain. Do you _get it now_?”

He paused for breath, and realized that Barry was staring at him, his cheeks pale. “Um, yes. I think I get it,” he said, in a very quiet voice.

He didn’t. Len knew that, but maybe at least he’d cooperate, since he didn’t have a lot of choices in the matter. He wasn’t about to let Barry out of the cuffs and collar, since no doubt the kid would still run off immediately. He didn’t really _comprehend_ , but maybe he’d be compliant under these circumstances, which was all Len needed for now.

“Good,” he said. “Now, we’re going to put some clothes on you, and I’m going to take you out to show you off.”

“What?” Barry squeaked, drawing back a little. 

“You heard me.” Len smiled.

“Can’t I just stay in here?” Barry asked plaintively. “I promise I won’t try to escape.” 

_Sure you won’t._ “No, you can’t. You’re my Christmas present and I get to enjoy you.” Barry made a soft choking sound, which Leonard ignored. Len got up and held out the sweater to him. “Do I have to force you into these the same way I forced you out of the suit, or are you going to behave?”

Barry sighed heavily and took the sweater. “I’ll behave.”


	4. Hands Off the Merchandise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grr. Len's speedster. _His_.

Barry really didn’t know what to make of Captain Cold.

At first, he’d thought Snart might help him, since they had their deal and all and he didn’t seem happy about what James Jesse had done, but then he was being such a _jerk_ , throwing him around and forcibly stripping him, making threats like some kind of pervert, and Barry was reminded that for all they had come to a vague understanding, Snart was still a bad guy. 

Then he’d sat down and really explained the situation from his perspective, and reading between the lines Barry had understood that not only was Barry’s life in danger here, but maybe Snart’s was, too. Because he _didn’t_ intend for Barry to die, but the other Rogues might not like that. And so it seemed like maybe, just _maybe_ Snart was scared for him.

But no, it turned out that Snart was a gigantic asshole.

Barry had honestly been determined to behave, to get through this while keeping his head down, and hoping that everything would be fine. He hadn’t tried to steal the keys or anything while he put his new clothes on - and where had Snart gotten these, anyway? - though he noticed that Snart was being exceptionally careful. He only unlocked one cuff at a time, watching sharply with the keys held tightly out of reach while Barry pulled on each article of clothing, then immediately tugging Barry’s arms and legs into place to be locked up again as soon as the clothing allowed.

Last to go on was the cowl of his Flash suit, which had somehow been detached. He wondered if he’d ever see that suit again, or what Snart had done with it.

Then Snart took the chain off the collar, leaving it hanging from the bedpost, and pulled him up. At least this time he held the chain that locked Barry’s wrists together, instead of half choking him to death like before. Barry didn’t complain, though - he was really being _good_ \- and Snart led him out of the room and back down the hall. This time, he took a slower pace in deference to Barry’s leg irons, and Barry dared to hope that things would be okay.

It was not okay.

There was a lot of laughter and shouting going on in the huge central room of this weird building. Many of the Rogues were sitting on the floor in a circle, apparently drinking and playing some sort of game. The room was trimmed in Christmas decorations, which Barry hadn’t really had the mental space to notice before. Of course, it _was_ Christmas Eve, so that wasn’t a big surprise.

Barry snuck a glance out the nearest window, but all he could see was darkness, not even a glow of city lights on the horizon. Were they even in Central City anymore? Where the hell _were_ they?

He followed, not having a choice, as Snart led him to a sofa near to the group of game-playing Rogues. “Sit down, Flash,” he purred, and suddenly there was an edge to his tone that hadn’t been there earlier. He’d been rough and firm earlier, no question, but something about his tone now made Barry’s stomach flip over with renewed anxiety.

Or maybe it was the fact that he was patting his knee as he made the command. And that every other person in the room had turned to stare.

“You can’t honestly mean—”

“ _Sit_ , boy.”

Barry sat. 

He thought maybe at first he’d turn around, perch on Snart’s knee with his back to him, but Cold grabbed him by the arm when he tried to turn, fingers biting in, and yanked him down facing him like he thought Barry had just tried to run. Maybe he did think that. Barry yelped and plunked down on his knees, straddling Snart’s left thigh as best he could with the chains around his ankles still forcing his feet close together. He was pulled forward unceremoniously by a strong arm wrapped around his waist, and tucked against the older man. After that, a little rearranging for comfort, and he wound up with his arms around Snart’s neck, his head practically resting on his shoulder, pressed chest to chest.

He could feel Snart’s heartbeat, strong and _fast_. Was he excited? Was he—

Oh god, what _did_ Snart want from him?

Barry wanted to close his eyes and pretend the whole world didn’t exist, but he didn’t dare. From this vantage point, nearly all the Rogues were _behind_ him, and his back itched with that knowledge. The only one he could actually see was Mick Rory, who sat in a chair nearby, his eyes fixed on Barry. As Barry looked, Heat Wave smirked, slow and with a distinct edge of knowing cruelty that made the bottom drop out of his stomach.

The sofa dipped and Barry turned his head to see that Mark Mardon had just flopped down beside them. “Why’s he still wearing the cowl?” he complained. He reached out and caught Barry by the chin, tilting his head up. “We should all get a look at his _face_ , don’t you think, Snart?” 

Barry’s heart tripled in pace and he tried to jerk away, but Snart was too quick. He smacked Mark’s arm away from him hard enough to make the younger man cry out in surprise and pull it back, rubbing his forearm. “Hands off the merchandise,” Snart growled, with a distinct tone of self-satisfaction. 

“What the fuck, Snart?” Mark demanded. “I was only—”

“Did _you_ pay a million bucks to get to see his face? No,” Snart retorted, and put his hand - the hand he’d just used to strike Mark - back down. On Barry’s ass. He squeezed, and Barry wanted to die. Then he lifted it a little higher, resting it comfortably on the small of his back and beginning to rub in slow, agonizing circles. 

“Are you saying you’re not gonna unmask him? Let us have fun with him at _all_?” Mark demanded angrily. 

“I’m saying, it’s up to me what happens with him,” Snart said, enunciating each syllable. “You want to play? You make it worth my while. You offer me something other than bullshit, maybe I’ll give you five minutes with him. Act like a spoiled brat, and you can go fuck yourself, Mardon. You had your chance like _everyone_ else, but you lost. Get over it.”

“He’s quite right, Mardon my boy,” the Trickster put in. “He _does_ belong to Snart. This isn’t an orgy. I doubt you’d be happy if I went and pawed all over that jeweled figurine you bought tonight would you?”

“I’m not a figurine,” Barry muttered. Snart made a soft, quelling sound, but that just annoyed him more. 

“What did you say, Flash?” Mardon snapped, probably the only other person close enough to have heard him say anything. Barry opened his mouth to say it louder, but Snart grabbed him by the back of the collar and tugged him up, then seized him by the chin and looked into his eyes.

“You speak when spoken to,” Snart said coldly. Barry drew a breath, angry, and the fingers tightened. Bruising.

“Mark, come on!” It was Shawna, sitting on the floor at Snart’s feet. “You’re holding up the game. Leave him alone for now, okay? Jeez.”

“You lost, Mardon,” Kyle Nimbus drawled, turning his hairless head to look at them. Barry could see him out of the corner of his eye, and the cold angry glare seemed to drill right into his skin. “We both did. You don’t see me acting like a spoiled brat about it.”

Mardon grumbled wordlessly and got up from the sofa. “Fine, fine. _Fuck_. Seems like such a goddamn waste, that’s all.”

“Not. Your. Call,” Snart said coldly, but his eyes were still on Barry, still looking a sharp command at him.

Barry swallowed his rage. It was like a hot coal in his throat, but it went down. _I just have to get through this. Just until the party’s over, then I can go home. Then I can get out of these cuffs. I just have to hang on for a few hours._ He nodded jerkily, and played that litany over and over in his head as Snart loosened his grip and let him settle more comfortably against his shoulder again.

Mick Rory was gone. 

Barry lifted his head a few inches again, looking around, and then the big man plunked himself down in the spot Mardon had just vacated. “Kids are fucking idiots,” he rumbled, glancing sidelong at Snart.

“They’re kids,” Snart muttered. “They’re drunk.”

“They’re not the only idiots in the room.”

Barry wondered if Rory was talking about him. 

“I know,” said Snart.

“How long you gonna be able to keep this up, Snart?” Rory asked. He shifted in his seat slightly, and once again Barry found his chin seized and his head pulled up. His field of vision was filled by Rory’s searching gaze.

“Hey, how come _he_ gets to—” 

“Shut up, Mark!” came half a dozen voices in unison, and Mardon subsided once again. 

“Gonna keep it up all week, Mick,” Snart said, very quietly. “No choice.”

“Mmmm, could take it in shifts,” Rory said. His fingers drifted to the back of Barry’s neck. He wanted to look away, but didn’t quite dare. He felt himself starting to vibrate with nervousness against Snart’s chest, and Cold drew in a sharp breath, his hand tightening into a fist in his sweater. 

“Maybe,” was all Snart said. His voice sounded a little strangled all of a sudden.

Rory’s eyes shifted and he tilted his head, looking at Snart’s face. “Wow, what’s he doing?”

“Shut. _Up_.”

Barry froze, struggling to get hold of himself. His knee was in Snart’s groin, and he realized with horror and mortification that he had just been speed force _vibrating_ basically against Snart’s crotch. “Sorry! I’m sorry.”

He heard Snart swallow hard. “Relax, kid. Jesus Christ. You might actually be _worth_ a million bucks.”

Rory chuckled. Barry dropped his head down to Snart’s shoulder again, trying to breathe and calm down, but Rory’s fingers were still at the back of his neck and Snart was rubbing his back again, and _why did his life suck so much_?

After a few moments of quiet, during which Roy Bivolo admitted to having watched every season of Doctor Who, and Shawna had suggested a game of strip poker, and then the entire group had torn the place apart searching for a deck of cards that hadn’t been provided by James Jesse, Barry suddenly thought about something Snart had said a few minutes earlier.

“Um, can I ask a question?” he asked, his voice slightly muffled by the soft fabric of Snart’s sweater.

Snart actually seemed to _consider_ that for a moment, like he might say no. “Sure,” he said finally.

“What do you mean ‘all week’?”

“Party lasts until New Year’s Day, kid,” Rory said.

There was a pause. “Oh my god,” Barry said weakly. He had thought it would maybe last until morning. Maybe even just until really late tonight.

Snart hummed an acknowledgment. “I think he’s finally starting to get it, Mick.”

Barry did get it. He was completely, totally fucked. There was no way he could keep this up, deal with this horrible feeling of being used and groped and on display for the amusement of a pack of killers and monsters, for a whole week.

He _had_ to find a way to escape.


	5. Do I Look Gay To You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> /points to title.

Leonard hadn’t meant to stay in the great-room with Barry that long. His original plan had been to make a short appearance, a show of power and control, and assess how well Barry was willing to behave in public. The first night, the Rogues would basically be expecting the Flash to be a pain in the ass anyway, but as the week went on, if he was too unruly and didn’t get corrected or punished for it, it might reflect badly on Snart and make him look soft. He couldn’t let on that he wasn’t willing to do whatever needed to be done to keep control over the Flash.

But other than the initial confrontation with Mardon - quickly dealt with and no big deal in the end - it had just been so pleasant sitting there. Barry was warm and lithe and practically _cuddled up to him_ , and every time Rory teased him, he gave this little shivery _vibration_ that if Len could figure out a way to turn that into a sex toy and sell it, he’d never have to steal another thing again. He’d decided to stay where he was until the erection eased, but then an hour had turned into two, and Lisa kept bringing him glasses of that scotch he liked, and finally around midnight he decided that he really _had_ had enough. 

He patted Barry on the ass, and the kid gave another of those shivery little jumps of his that sent pleasant sensations right through his groin. “Up,” he murmured. 

The game on the floor had turned into a general pile-up of young ruffians, drowsing and apparently deciding to just sleep it off right there on the floor, though a few of them had peeled off earlier and gone to their rooms. Mick was nowhere in sight and even the Tricksters had vanished. Lisa lay on the floor with her head in Bivolo’s lap, dosing. 

Barry was apparently wide awake. The look he gave Snart certainly showed no hint of sleepiness, and he scrambled immediately to his feet, looking around at the Rogues on the floor with a furrowed brow. 

Len got up more slowly, stretched and heard his back crack, then caught Barry by the wrist, just above the cuff. “Come on,” he whispered so as not to wake anyone. “Bed time.”

Barry followed, though he dragged his feet, and a couple of times Snart had to tug to get him going a little faster. He knew the chains were probably a pain, but he wasn’t about to remove them. If Barry could get his legs moving, he might be able to run away even with the cuffs in place. He obviously _could_ still activate the speed force, just as Hartley had said - whatever that meant.

Len reached his door and unlocked it, the key scraping against the plate twice before he managed to get it in the lock. “You’re drunk,” Barry whispered, and Len glanced back at him. He paused, thought, then nodded.

“Probably.” 

He opened the door and tugged Barry through, but he was getting even more recalcitrant, _definitely_ dragging his feet. As the door closed, he seemed to take that as his cue to speak normally again, and what came out was a torrent of stammering words.

“L-Look, Snart. You don’t— It doesn’t have to be like this. I mean, uh, why don’t I just stay out here tonight? Like, I could just sleep on the sofa. You don’t have to give up half the bed to me, um, okay?”

“You’re not sleeping on the sofa,” Len growled, now physically dragging him towards the bed. What the hell was the kid’s problem suddenly? He couldn’t let Barry sleep on the sofa - there was nowhere to chain him up to. “We’re going to bed.”

“No, please!” 

Len ignored his protest and hauled on the chain, then hooked a leg around his feet and tripped him. Barry tumbled onto the bed and cried out, trying to scramble away while Leonard struggled to reattach the chain on the bedpost to the collar on his neck. They wrestled, Barry hampered by the chains, and Leonard climbed on top of him once again, swearing in frustration as the speedster fought like a wild animal. 

“No! No don’t! Stop, please! Idon’twanttodothis!”

Leonard was done. He hauled off and slapped him in the face. “Stop this right now!” he snapped, glaring down at the kid. Miraculously, Barry paused, panting, his eyes wide behind the mask. “You were being so good all goddamn evening! What’s your fucking problem?”

“Please… don’t rape me,” Barry said, in a very small voice.

Leonard went very, very still, his mind seizing up with a mixture of incandescent rage and horror. Did he think…? Why would he…? He stared down at the kid for a few seconds, honestly unable to think of a single thing to say to that that didn’t involve punching him into next week or screaming himself hoarse. Barry shivered under him, his fingers twitching and grasping at nothing, arms pinned under Leonard’s knees, clearly terrified.

Eventually, Snart rolled off him and onto his feet. “Do I look gay to you?” he demanded. His tone sounded normal. Good. The rage was still simmering inside him, but he couldn’t - _wouldn’t_ \- let it out. Barry had good reason to think that was what Snart had intended, after the way he’d acted all night. The rage was mostly self-directed.

Very slowly, Barry sat up. “Um…” He bit his lip, looking Snart up and down, a flush creeping slowly up his neck. “…no?”

“Yes I do,” Leonard said, rolling his eyes. “I’m not.” Barry relaxed minutely. “I’m pansexual.” Again, the tension was back. Sort of. It was muffled by a healthy helping of confusion.

“B-but that means you _do_ like guys, so…” Barry looked lost, which was exactly what Snart had intended. Better lost and confused than terrified.

“Don’t give yourself so much credit,” Snart said, though the truth was he would give almost anything to have actual permission to run his hands all over that body. 

Barry’s brows knitted. “But you’ve been… you’ve been touching me all night,” he said. “You got hard - I felt it.”

“You were _vibrating_ ,” Leonard snapped. He refused to feel guilty. _Refused_. “I was holding you like that to make a point - that you were _mine_ and no one else was going to get to touch you. Now they know, so people like Mardon aren’t gonna get the _chance_ to do the things you were just accusing me of wanting to do.”

“Mick Rory touched me!” Barry protested.

“Mick Rory didn’t hurt you - did he? Did he hurt you?” Leonard demanded, and Barry shrank back slightly, giving an uncertain shake of his head. “No, he didn’t. He was having a little fun, making you blush. Big deal.”

“I didn’t like it, though.”

“No one said this week was going to be easy for anyone.”

Barry curled up on the bed again, tucking his legs under him and hunching his shoulders. He looked down at the bedspread, picking at a loose thread. Leonard watched him for a full minute before speaking again. 

“You gonna let me chain you up?”

Barry’s eyes flicked up, then down again, and he frowned. “I don’t want to.”

 _Goddamnit._ “You don’t have much of a choice.”

The kid’s lips thinned, pursed. His lower lip slipped between his teeth and he bit down. Len was so _fucking_ horny, he could scarcely stand it. “You don’t trust me,” Barry finally said, looking up with faint accusation in his tone.

“You’re right. I don’t,” Leonard said, folding his arms. “Especially after that little display.”

“I thought you were going to rape me!” Barry snapped. 

“I’m _not_.”

“Well, how do I know—”

“You’re just going to have to _trust me_.”

“But I don’t tr— Oh.” Barry winced and looked down. 

Leonard snorted softly. “Think just because you’re a hero that I’m just going to believe everything you say? You’ll run the instant you have a chance. And don’t bother to protest - I won’t believe it.”

Barry swallowed hard. “You really, really promise you don’t want to— to do that, to me?”

Wow, now that was putting him between a rock and a hard place. Leonard actually hesitated, long enough that Barry noticed and he started to go pale again. “I _would never_ rape anyone,” Leonard said firmly, with complete conviction. “Not even you,” he added with as much sarcasm as he could muster. “Not my style.”

The kid didn’t look entirely reassured. He fidgetted. “So this is what’s gonna happen for the next week? I’m chained up, and you take me around and put me on display like… like some kind of prize? But none of the other Rogues get to touch or hurt me?”

Leonard cocked his head. “Basically. And when the retreat is over, we all get to go home, and you can go ahead and forget it ever happened.”

Barry looked up, searched his expression. “And you _promise_ that that’s all. A bit embarrassing, uncomfortable, but no more than the kind of thing like tonight?”

Len held his gaze, and nodded. For once, at least, he didn’t have to lie. “I promise.”

To his amazement, Barry nodded and seemed to relax. He reached up and picked up the dangling chain, then held it out. “I… I can cope with that.”

Leonard actually didn’t move for a second. He was…trusting him? Just like that?

He took a few steps forward - he’d deliberately put some distance between himself and Barry after that accusation - and picked up the chain. The kid held still and submitted as Leonard locked the chain onto his neck, and then Leonard helped him pull the covers back and rearrange the chain so Barry could lie down. It wasn’t comfortable - he could see that - but it looked like he might be able to sleep.

Once that was done, he could finally relax. “Be back,” he said, and walked into the ensuite bathroom.

He closed the door and leaned against it. Good lord, he really _was_ an idiot. He’d known that Barry was nervous, but it hadn’t really occurred to him - it _should_ have, but it didn’t - that he would come to that conclusion. And the worst part was, he didn’t regret one thing he’d done tonight. 

He straightened up and walked across the room. The ensuite was as palatial as the rest of the suite, with a massive tub with jets, and a separate glass-walled shower, two sinks, and a little water closet with the toilet all neatly tucked away. Len turned on the shower and undressed, then stepped under the spray, shivering as the ice cold water cascaded down, but then warmed up. He leaned against the wall and wrapped his fingers around his dick, still hard as a rock even after all of that.

He closed his eyes and began to stroke, letting the lukewarm water cascade down his face and chest, curl around his pubic hair and then drip off his legs. It wasn’t hard to summon up just the right images. Barry Allen cuddled up to him, kissing his neck. Those long-fingered hands running down his chest, up under the sweaters he always wore. Squirming against him. _Vibrating_ in that incredible way that proved that he was so much more than human.

Barry Allen moaning Snart’s name as he came. Naked and vibrant and writhing under his hands.

It took only a few minutes of rough, punishing strokes before Len came, gasping and nearly silent despite the shudders that ran through his body. The fluids ran down the drain, taking any evidence of his forbidden thoughts with it.


	6. Go To Sleep, Barry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry spends his first night with Len. Not his best sleep ever.

Barry watched Snart walk into the bathroom and listened as the shower started up. It had been a hellish evening, hours of growing increasingly nervous and keyed up, without any way to burn off the energy. As he sat there, while Snart pawed him and drank that foul-smelling liquor, all Barry could do was keep thinking about things he’d said.

_I’m going to do whatever the hell I want._

_You’re my Christmas present and I get to enjoy you._

_Hands off the merchandise._

_You offer me something other than bullshit, maybe I’ll give you five minutes with him._

He certainly didn’t feel sleepy at all. 

His wrists, throat, and ankles were aching and chafed already from the pull of the chains. He didn’t need to pee yet, but that was a miracle. And he still was far from completely certain that Leonard Snart didn’t intend to hurt him. But he’d decided that trust had to start somewhere, and maybe if Barry offered Snart some of his own, Snart would trust him a bit more, and the week might go a little more smoothly. 

Though even as he bent his head and meekly let Snart lock him up, he hadn’t been able to keep the memory of Snart betraying him at Ferris Air out of his mind. He had trusted Snart then, and it had blown up in his face. One of the metas had died, and apparently the rest had joined his evil gang.

Snart took what Barry was sure was the shortest shower in history. A few moments later, the toilet flushed, and then he emerged wrapped in a white terrycloth robe and carrying his clothes all bundled up. He eyed Barry, who sort of wished he’d pretended to be asleep. He had taken his cowl off while Snart was in the shower, and their eyes met in the dimness, before Snart reached out and switched off the bathroom light.

“You need to take a leak or anything?” Snart asked, walking to the chest of drawers. He shut off the remainder of the lights as he went, plunging the room into utter darkness. Barry heard him opening drawers and closing them, presumably changing into whatever he would wear to bed. He couldn’t believe he was about to find out what Captain Cold wore to sleep.

“Um. No,” he said softly.

“I’ll track you down a spare toothbrush tomorrow,” Leonard said, his footsteps audible, but muffled by the thick carpets as he walked towards the bed. “Let you shower, and all that.” The bed shifted as Snart got in, and Barry turned over to face him again, the chain clinking. 

“Thanks,” Barry said, because it was polite, he supposed. Snart grunted and rolled onto his side, his back to Barry.

Barry shifted onto his back and closed his eyes. He still wasn’t sleepy. Snart’s breathing evened out slowly and grew deeper, but as Barry lay there, his mind only raced down path after miserable path. He was stuck here for a whole week. Tomorrow would be Christmas morning, and he wouldn’t be able to go to Joe’s to open presents. He wouldn’t be there for Christmas dinner.

He’d been so worried about his own safety, he had only now started thinking about how worried Joe and Iris would be, not to mention Cisco and Caitlin. His friends at STAR Labs would have known about it the moment he blacked out. He could only assume that his communicator and GPS tracker had been disabled before he had even left Central City. They knew he was in trouble, but they wouldn’t have any way of finding him. Barry’s wasn’t the only Christmas that would be ruined this year.

Finally, he turned over towards Snart again and reached out. He expected to encounter bare skin when he touched Snart, but he felt thick, soft flannel under his fingers. He poked Snart in the back.

The criminal jerked and turned over. “What is it, Barry?” Despite his intoxication and the fact that Barry had thought he was waking him up from a dead sleep, he sounded remarkably alert.

“Do you…have a phone I could use?”

There was a pause. “What in heaven’s name makes you think I’d let you near a phone?” Snart asked incredulously.

Barry swallowed. “I just thought, if you’d let me call Cisco and Caitlin, I could let them know I’m okay. Then they won’t worry so much when I don’t come back for a week.”

Snart didn’t even hesitate. “No, you can’t.”

“But—”

“You can’t, Barry. Leave it.”

“Snart, please! If they don’t hear from me, they’re going to look for me. What if they _do_ find me, and they get hurt? I swear to god, I won’t give them any hint of where I am.” Barry scooted over as far as he could go, and reached out. Snart caught his fingers in one hand, and held them tight.

“I _said_ , you _can’t_ ,” he hissed. “There’s no cell signal up here. No phone, not even a landline. Best we could do is go up to the fire tower and use the radio, but that wouldn’t get you in contact with your friends.”

Barry’s continuing protest died in his throat and he sagged into the bed. “Oh…”

Snart squeezed his fingers and then let him go. “If we had it, maybe, I’d have allowed it,” he said grudgingly. “But they’re just going to have to worry.”

“This sucks.”

Snart rolled onto his back. “Nothing I can do about it. Go to sleep, Barry.”

Barry sighed and rolled over again, putting his own back to Snart now and determinedly closing his eyes. He didn’t sleep. Eventually, Snart rolled towards him, and a heavy arm was flung over Barry. Snart’s breath tickled the short hairs at the back of Barry’s neck, smelling faintly of booze and peppermint.

Barry lay there with Snart’s arm wrapped around him, and stared at the far wall until the sun began to peek over the horizon and bathe the room in a pale, cool glow. Now that he could see a little better, Barry discovered that there was a glass sliding door leading out onto a snow-covered porch, and more snow beyond. He could faintly see mountains in the near distance, which gave him some idea of where he had to be, though “somewhere in the mountains” was still a pretty huge area. Closer, but still some distance away, he saw a high wooden fence. Was that the perimeter that the Trickster had mentioned? Would his collar really blow his head off if he jumped that fence?

Mostly, though, he could see iron-coloured clouds leaning heavily over them in the sky. Even as he watched, snowflakes began to fall, first just a few, and then more. By the time Snart began to stir, his hand smoothing possessively down Barry’s chest as his breathing warmed towards wakefulness, the snow had increased until the mountains - and the fence - were utterly obscured by swirling white. 

There was a ‘poof’ sound, and Shawna Baez’ voice spoke up merrily from the other room. “Good morning! Breakfast is up!”

Barry yelped, and Snart moved so quickly it was hard to imagine that he had still been asleep. The older man pushed Barry over onto his stomach, fingers hard against the back of his head as he shoved Barry’s face into the pillow. There was a telltale whine of the cold gun starting up and where had he— Had he been sleeping with the cold gun next to him?

“Get out!” Snart shouted. “Get the fuck out of here, Baez!”

“Woah, woah, calm down!” she exclaimed. “I’m not even—”

“Get _out_ of my room.”

“I didn’t look!” she snapped, and there was another poofing sound as she undoubtedly teleported out of the room once again.

Snart rolled to his feet. Barry looked up and saw him dressed head to toe in black flannel pyjamas, barefoot, holding the cold gun, and looking like murder. He stalked towards the door into the next room. Barry smelled coffee and bacon.

“Wait!” Barry exclaimed. He pushed himself up to sit, nearly choked himself, and fell back against the pillow. “Wait, don’t kill her! Please!”

Snart paused and looked back, eyes cold and _furious_ , and then he was gone without a word. The door slammed, and Barry was alone.


	7. I'm a Stone Cold Badass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Len. Yes, we know. Calm down.

Snart ignored the protests of the Flash and also the covered tray sitting on his coffee table steaming and smelling divine. He threw open the door and stomped down the hallway to the central room. It was deserted, a few crumpled throw blankets on the floor the only evidence of the fact that half a dozen young people had slept on the floor the night before. He continued through into the kitchen. 

Mick was tending a flat grill, cooking bacon and eggs. He glanced up, eyes falling on the cold gun in his hand, and raised an eyebrow, then returned to his cooking.

“Who pissed in your cheerios this morning, Snart? Didn’t the kid put out for you last night?”

“Where is she?” Snart growled.

“Who?”

“ _Shawna Baez_.”

“Dunno. Why?”

“She came into my room.”

Mick grunted. “Told her to.”

“ _Why_?”

“Delivering breakfast in bed to the honeymooners. Told her not to peek at the kid, like you wanted. Did she peek?”

“…No, I don’t think so.” He frowned. “I’m not on a honeymoon, Mick. He’s my _prisoner_. He _hates_ me.”

“Whatever. Same thing.”

Lisa breezed in, smelling freshly showered and with her hair done up in a towel turban. She opened the fridge, pulled out a container of strawberries and looked him up and down. “Aren’t your feet cold, big brother?”

They were. He was starting to feel like an asshole. “Did you have anything to do with this, Lisa?”

She looked a bit too innocent. “With what?”

“With sending Baez in to my _room_ this morning.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of _course_ , you dummy. We were trying to do something nice, let you have breakfast with your cutie in private without subjecting yourself on all of us. God, you are such a _bear_ in the mornings.”

“It was her idea,” Mick confirmed, flipping the eggs over busily. 

“It was a dumb idea,” Len snapped. “I don’t like people in my room. I thought—” He lowered the gun to his side, rubbed a hand over his face. “I thought Mardon put her up to it.”

Lisa walked over to him and patted his chest, looking up at him with a twinkle in her eye. “Well, he didn’t. So _chill out_ , bro. Go back to your room and have some coffee, and come out when you’re ready to be social.”

“I’m never social,” he pointed out, starting to smile. “I’m a stone cold badass.”

“Yes, you are,” she said indulgently, beaming. “Get out of here. I’ll find Shawna and tell her it’s fine.”

He pursed his lips and nodded, then walked back to his room, feeling like - just possibly - he might have overreacted. 

He opened the door again and locked it behind him, though apparently that didn’t matter. Shawna could obviously teleport through keyholes or something. He already knew Nimbus could get in if he wanted to. Metahumans. He’d never really get used to it.

“Snart!” Oh right, Barry was still freaking out. 

He set the cold gun down on the end of the bed and walked up to unlock the chain around his neck. “Relax. I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Really?” The relief in Barry’s eyes was palpable, and he sagged back against the pillow again. “Oh thank goodness.”

Snart rolled his eyes. “I still don’t understand how you can be so worried about people who would gladly be the one to stick a knife in your ribs the first chance they got.”

“Just because they want to kill me, doesn’t mean I should sink to their level,” Barry retorted. He sat up and stretched, though he was hampered by the chains. 

“You sore?”

Barry looked down, as if the fact that he was stiff because he’d spent the night locked in manacles was something to be ashamed of. “A little.”

Len grunted softly, unsure of what to do. “Let’s have breakfast.”

Barry’s stomach grumbled audibly. Snart took that as approval of the idea.

They walked into the den area in front of the fireplace and Snart sat down on the sofa. Barry looked around like he might find somewhere else to sit, but finally sat down next to him, scooting as far away as possible and wedging himself against the arm of the sofa. Len pretended to ignore that, taking the cover off the tray and revealing two artfully-arranged plates of eggs, bacon and toast, and a generous bowl of fresh fruit. There was a coffee carafe, cream and sugar. Overall, Len couldn’t complain. Lisa did know what he liked.

He figured it was Mick who had arranged the eggs and bacon to form a smile. Jerk.

Len picked up a plate and offered it to Barry, who fell on it like he was starving to death. Despite being hampered by the cuffs, he still managed to speed a little as he ate, lightning flickering over his skin as he forked up the eggs and stuffed the toast and bacon strips into his mouth practically whole. Len had scarcely had time to pour himself a cup of coffee before the plate was virtually licked clean and Barry looked up and over at the tray, somewhat mournfully.

Without a word, Len passed him the other plate. 

“Ah…no, this one’s yours.”

Len gestured vaguely. “I don’t eat breakfast, usually,” he lied, and made a mental note to tell Lisa he was going to need more generous portions for tomorrow. “Go ahead. You burn a lot of energy, huh?”

Barry’s mouth was already full again. He chewed and swallowed, and blushed slightly. “Yeah… ten thousand calories a day, sometimes. I didn’t really get to eat anything for most of yesterday, since, uh, I got kidnapped.”

“Should have said something,” Len said, leaning back on the sofa and sipping his coffee. “I could’ve got you something to eat.”

Barry looked up at him, frowning. “No offense, Snart, but I didn’t think you were all that worried about my comfort and well-being last night.”

Snart shrugged. “Fair. But next time, don’t be shy. I don’t want you to die on me.”

Barry ate a little more slowly now, though he still polished off the second helping in record time. He set the empty plate down, chains rattling against the porcelain and snagged the bowl of fruit. Len did reach out and steal a slice of melon, but otherwise left it to the kid to eat. 

“Why?” Barry asked softly, after a few moments.

“Why what?”

Barry lowered the bowl to his lap and looked up at Snart, eyebrows drawn together. “Why’s it important to you that I live? You hate me.”

Len was startled to hear his own words earlier being reflected back on him now. He scoffed quietly. “Is that what you think?”

The Flash shrugged uncomfortably, looking down. He fidgeted with a strawberry, taking his time in pulling off the leaves on top. 

“I don’t hate you at all,” Len said. “Why would I?”

“I make your life more difficult,” Barry pointed out. “I foil your heists, and stuff. _They_ all hate me.” He gestured towards the door.

Len sighed. “Actually, they don’t all hate you. The ones you locked in the Pipeline? Sure, they’d gladly see your guts spread out on the floor.” Barry shivered a bit at that mental image. “But can you blame them? You locked them up. It was crueller than real prison, and you know it.” 

Barry grimaced. “We didn’t have—”

“A choice. I know that’s what _you_ tell yourself.” Len glared for a moment, then shrugged, setting that point of contention aside. “Anyway, Lisa and Mick don’t hate you, and neither do I. Sure, you make my life more difficult - you also make it _interesting_. I enjoy our battles, even though losing isn’t really my cup of tea.” He crossed his legs, resting his ankle on his other knee and smirking over the rim of his coffee mug at the younger man. “And as for why I don’t want you dead, frankly, if you were dead then the rest of the metahumans would have free rein to run amok. I don’t want that for Central City any more than you do. Central City’s my home, and more _importantly_ , if things were falling into anarchy, they’d probably ramp up the police, and military, and that’d cause me a _lot_ more grief than you ever have.”

Barry blinked and looked up at him, amazed and chagrined. “Are you saying that because I’m keeping the city safe, you’re having an easier time with your crime then you otherwise would?”

Leonard smiled.

Barry groaned and shook his head, eating the denuded strawberry mournfully. He picked at the rest of the fruit, avoiding the kiwi. Len decided that probably meant he didn’t like it, and stole it for himself. Kiwi was amazing. Barry had no taste, obviously. 

When the food was done and the coffee carafe mostly empty, Barry finally spoke up again. “Okay so… I need a shower. And like. Stuff. A change of clothes and all. Do you mind…?” He offered his hands again, looking vaguely hopeful.

Len glared. “I’m not taking the cuffs off.”

“At least the chains, so I can walk properly and move my arms—”

Len hesitated for a moment. “No.”

“I’m not going to _run away_ , Snart!”

“I said, it’s not happening.” Len clenched a fist in his lap. Barry had been fighting him just last night. “Stop asking.”

Barry huffed. “Well what are we supposed to do, then? How’m I supposed to wash up? You _said_ I could shower.”

Len cocked his head, but there really was only one answer. “I’ll help you.”

“W-what—? No!”

There was a stack of neatly folded clothes next to the tray. Fresh clothes for Barry, no doubt. Len grabbed them and got to his feet. “Come on.”

Barry followed reluctantly. Len shut the door to the bathroom firmly, and then pulled the keys out of his pocket and began the process of divesting Barry of his clothing. Barry held still, shoulders hunched slightly, as he tugged off the clothes and relocked the chains. Though the kid shivered a little under his hands, Snart was as much of a gentleman as he could manage, scarcely touching his bare skin even when he pulled off his underwear. And he didn’t look.

Well. Much.

He turned away and rummaged in the closet for some fresh towels. “Go ahead and wash up,” he said. “Take as much time as you need.”

“You’re staying in here with me?” Despite the quiet protest, Barry walked to the shower and turned on the water. Len allowed himself to check out his backside, now that Barry couldn’t see him do it.

God, he was gorgeous. Not a single scar anywhere. All lean muscle and whipcord strength. Len wanted to lick every inch of his body.

Barry stepped into the shower and shut the door. The glass fogged up, obscuring most of his form, but Len had gotten enough of an eyeful to be able to fill in the gaps. He set out towels and a toothbrush supplied by the chalet, then settled on the edge of the tub to wait. “Let me know if you want me to wash your back,” he called out, smirking.

“No thanks!”

Len shrugged. A guy could dream. 

He slipped out of the bathroom while Barry was distracted, and dressed, then returned before the kid had probably even realized he was gone.

Once Barry finished up the shower, Len turned his back and waited while he dried off, then helped him into the new set of clothing. Lisa had found a pair of jeans for him, and a polo shirt in red. Not Len’s favourite colours, but it sure did look good on the kid. Finally, teeth brushed and hair combed and everything else done, and they were presentable.

“Now what?” Barry asked. “You gonna feel me up all day, now?”

“Maybe,” Len said without a trace of guilt. “It’s Christmas Day, after all.”

“What does that have to do with it?!” Barry sputtered, and Len smirked at him.

The snow seemed to have slackened, though the clouds were still dark and threatening, and Len could hear some shouting and laughter coming from outside. “We’ll go see what’s going on,” Len said. “You can’t just stay cooped up in here all day.”

“I wouldn’t mind it,” Barry muttered, but followed obediently as Len led him out of the room.


	8. Slip the Chain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a snowball fight! Also, a wild plot appears.

Walking in the chains was always the worst part. Ever since the lightning, Barry had always been a person who moved, who ran when he could, and walked only when he had to. Now he was so hampered that he couldn’t even extend his legs to cover his full stride. He kept forgetting he had to shuffle slowly, and then the chain would snap taut and he’d nearly trip. His skin was continuously being abraded away from fighting the chains, and that hurt, even with his enhanced healing.

Even still, he shuffled as quickly as he could down the hall until he caught up with Leonard Snart. “Listen, Snart,” he said, reaching out with his bound hands to touch his arm. The older man seemed to like touching him. Maybe this would help, if Barry reached out first. 

Snart glanced down at the hand on his arm, then up at his cowled face, not slowing down. “I’m listening, Flash.”

“Look, you heard what the Trickster said, that the collar has an explosive on it. I can’t run away, so long as I’m wearing it.”

“Your point?”

Why did everything he say make his stomach flutter nervously? Snart had such a laconic, unruffled manner, that Barry really had no idea how he was going to react to anything Barry said or did. He swallowed hard. “My point is, I’m not going to run. You can take the chains off - leave the cuffs, leave all of it, but let me move around a little more. Please?”

Snart stopped and turned to face him, putting his head on one side. Barry felt like he was looking straight into his soul. “You promise that if I let you off the chain, that you won’t use your speed against any of my Rogues?”

 _Oh thank goodness._ He was listening. “I promise, Snart.”

His eyes narrowed. “Swear on the life of your friend, Miss West.”

Barry felt like he had just been punched in the chest. Was that a threat? Was he saying he’d kill Iris if Barry broke his word? Well, he did intend to behave himself, so, “I…I swear,” he said.

Snart’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, then narrowed again. He shrugged, and pulled out of Barry’s grasp. “I’ll think about it.”

“Snart—!” Barry’s elbow was seized in return and he struggled to keep up as Snart marched him the rest of the way down the hall.

There was Christmas music coming from the great room. They stepped out into a festive scene. Someone had erected a large tree in the corner, which exuded a piney smell. There weren’t many ornaments, but it was still a nice touch, Barry thought. Or at least, it would be if it didn’t make his chest ache. Joe and Iris had to be beside themselves. Would they even erect a tree if Barry wasn’t there, or were they out looking for him? He couldn’t imagine them celebrating if he was missing.

Hartley Rathaway lay sprawled on a sofa, head moving in time to the music. He had a book and pencil in his hands, doing some kind of puzzle, and he looked up as they emerged. “Oh, h-hey! You’re up.”

“Where is everybody?” Snart asked.

“Outside, mostly, since the blizzard cleared up,” Hartley said, and flicked his eyes towards Barry. “Hello, Flash.”

“Hey, Hartley,” Barry said unhappily.

The back patio door slid open, and Lisa Snart trotted into the room accompanied by a puff of chill air and swirling snowflakes. She was dressed in a red dress, trimmed in white fur, and looking very festive. Over it was a long coat of what looked like fur-lined leather, buttery yellow - nearly outright gold in colour. “Lenny! You emerged.”

“Why is everyone acting like I didn’t just have breakfast?”

“Because it’s nearly noon, silly,” Lisa said, and Snart made a soft sound of surprise, and his head swiveled, looking around for a clock, but there wasn’t a single one in the room.

Barry found himself laughing. It started as a snicker, but soon he was almost doubled over with laughter. He knew very well how punctual Snart was, with his heists planned down to the second. It was Barry who had a penchant for sleeping in. 

Lisa covered her smile with her hand, eyes dancing, and Hartley sat up fully, staring at Barry with his mouth open. Snart just glared at Barry until he got hold of himself. He slowly caught his breath, and swallowed, still grinning sheepishly. “Ah…sorry. I— It’s been a hard couple of days. Release of tension.”

“Glad I could amuse you,” Snart said, then looked at Lisa with narrowed eyes. “Both.”

Hartley raised a hand. “I didn’t think it was that funny.”

“ _Thanks_ ,” Snart said, rolling his eyes.

Through the open door, the sound of laughter drifted, followed by a scream. Barry started, his heart speeding up, but more laughter followed. “What’s going on out there?”

Lisa laughed, crossing to a closet and opening it up. She tossed two coats towards them, which Snart caught. “It’s a snowball fight, I believe.”

Snart shrugged into his parka, then looked sidelong at Barry, calculating. “Give me your hands,” he said. 

Barry extended his bound wrists, and Snart undid the chain between them, then pocketed it. Barry sighed in relief. Though the cuffs were still there, at least he could move his arms properly again. He swung his arms around in a circle, reveling in the simple pleasure of the movement. His arms blurred for a second before he finally stopped. Then he smiled at Snart. “Thank you.”

Snart glared at him for a moment, then pushed the second coat into his hands and turned away. “Keep your promise.”

Barry wished he’d taken off the chains on his legs, too, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. He pulled on the coat and followed in his shuffling, dragging step. “I will,” he said fervently. “I always keep my promises, Snart.”

Hartley followed him, taking another coat from Lisa and pulling it on as he walked beside Barry. “How’re you holding up, Flash?”

Barry glanced at him, startled by what sounded like concern from the Pied Piper. “Okay,” he said. “I’m okay.”

“You’re lucky it was him,” Hartley said, eyes flicking towards the criminal walking ahead of them. 

“I know,” Barry said, and frowned. It _was_ true. Snart had been weird and frightening, but he hadn’t hurt Barry in any way, though he’d had many opportunities. 

“You ought to show him some gratitude,” Hartley said, and flashed him a smirk. Then he trotted forward, slipping past Snart and out the door. 

_What’s that supposed to mean?_ Barry wondered in frustration. 

Outside, the snow was still drifting down, but the sun shone through a few cracks in the grey cloud cover. Barry could see a number of people in coats, running around on the snowy lawn. It was, indeed, a snowball fight in progress. James Jesse was reclining on a lawn chair, sipping from a mug and tinkering with something that looked like it might be some kind of explosive device. Mick Rory sat on a bench in a nearby gazebo, looking vaguely chilled and annoyed about it. Snart paused on the porch outside the door and Barry caught up in a few steps, only for Snart to wrap an arm around his shoulders. 

“Hartley’s got nice ideas,” Lisa said as she walked past. Barry blushed and said nothing. Her shoes were definitely not suited to the snow, but Lisa sashayed down the steps and out across the grounds anyway, a tray of hot chocolates in her hands. “Hot drinks, boys and girl!” she shouted.

“Lisa always puts marshmallows in it,” Snart murmured, right into his ear. “Shall we go get some?” 

Barry couldn’t feel the wash of breath through the earpiece of the cowl. But even without the breath, it was the tone that suddenly had Barry shivering. He might have tried to chalk it up to the cold, but in fact, he was suddenly feeling rather warm. “Uh, sure.”

They walked across the yard. Barry glanced around at another shriek of laughter, and watched in amazement at the snowball fight in progress. Axel was hiding behind a mound of snow, taking pot shots primarily at Mark Mardon. Mark was growing increasingly furious, and Axel had to dive for better cover when the metahuman decided to form an actual ice ball between his hands and chuck it at his head.

The younger Trickster seemed to decide that maybe Mark wasn’t a good target after all. The next time he popped his head up, it was to throw a snowball at Peek-a-boo with amazing accuracy. Shawna vanished and teleported five feet to her right, and the snow hit Kyle instead. She laughed again, clutching at her chest in her mirth, and a second later Hartley hit her with another snowball. She gave a shriek and whirled, searching for her attacker, but Hartley had dived behind a snow-covered bush.

“Hey!” Nimbus snarled, wiping snow from his face bending down to grab up a ball of snow. “It is _on_ now, Walker.”

“Is this a good idea?” Barry asked worriedly, as Nimbus vanished into a cloud of green gas and Axel turned to run. 

Snart looked around, watched for a few seconds, then sighed through his nose. He pulled Barry into the gazebo, and pushed him into Mick Rory’s arms. “Keep an eye on him,” he growled. 

“Wait!” Barry exclaimed, trying to rise. Mick wrapped both arms around him and jammed his chin onto Barry’s shoulder as the pyromaniac literally dragged him into his lap. “Wait, I can help! Take off the chains on my legs and I can help stop him.”

“Settle down, twinkle toes,” Mick growled. Snart stalked away, his cold gun charging up with a whine, and he broke into a jog as he headed for the stand of trees where Axel and Nimbus had gone. 

Barry felt his heart rate double, then double again, until it was like a blur in his chest. He felt a surge of anxiety as he saw Snart disappear into the trees, which surprised him. The truth was that, as little as he trusted Captain Cold, he trusted other people even less. Like Mick Rory, who had surprisingly strong arms and smelled of charcoal and smoke, and who now settled back in the bench and pulled Barry back against his chest.

Lisa appeared once again, her tray a bit lighter, and handed Mick a hot chocolate, then offered one to Barry. “Want one?”

He swallowed, slightly reassured by having her there, even though he really didn’t know what to make of her, either. “…Thanks, Lisa,” he said, and took the cup, wrapping his hands around it. Mick firmed his grip on Barry, fisting a hand in his sweater, and then sipped from the mug held in his other hand. 

Lisa sat down next to them, crossing her legs and taking a mug for herself, which left one remaining. It steamed gently in the cold air, waiting for Snart.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Barry blurted out. “Kyle Nimbus is…”

“A psychopath made of poison gas,” Mick growled into his ear. “We know.”

Lisa glanced at him sidelong, her lips curved in a secretive smile. “Lenny’ll be fine. He knows how to handle these guys, or they wouldn’t be Rogues.”

“He’s not even a metahuman,” Barry murmured.

“Don’t need to be a metahuman to kick _your_ ass,” Mick rumbled, and Barry felt him smile against his cheek, a fine bit of stubble scratching his skin lightly. 

Barry bristled a little. “He only did that a couple of times…”

“So…” Lisa said, tossing her hair and looking at him mischievously. “Worried about my brother, hmm?”

Well, when she put it like that, suddenly Barry found himself blushing. “I’m _n-not_ — I mean. What are you saying?”

Lisa produced a cinnamon stick and stirred her hot chocolate with it, then sucked on the end, eyes bright with amusement. “Oh…nothing, dear.”

With Axel and Kyle gone, the snowball fight had resumed with a vengeance. Barry watched it, sipping his hot chocolate - it was really good - and trying to pretend that everything else that was bothering him didn’t exist. Not Mick Rory’s hand on his chest and his warmth against his back. Not Lisa’s sidelong, significant glances that Barry didn’t understand. Not the chains around his feet. 

Hartley was still sniping from the bushes, but Mark, Roy, and Shawna were starting to figure out where he was. Mark got hit in the back of the head, and whirled around, a little twister appearing over his palm. “Get out here you little shit!” he snapped. Snow swirled around him, and the clouds seemed to close in more deeply.

“No way, Mardon!” Hartley exclaimed, and then dodged as a hail of snowballs sailed towards him from Roy and Shawna. 

Then Roy turned and threw one at Mark while he was lining up his own shot at Hartley, laughing as it struck Weather Wizard in the side of the head.

There followed a furious, four way exchange, that sent all four of the remaining fighters diving for cover even as they threw more snowballs.

Barry realized that he had finished his hot chocolate and was beginning to fidget. His right leg bounced with an eagerness, a desire to move, to join them, even though they were enemies. Even though they were criminals. He pressed forward against Mick’s restraining hand, wanting to _move_ , to run. 

“You going somewhere, kid?” Mick murmured.

Barry drew a breath, and tried to slow his heart, dampen down his restless energy. “No, I…”

Suddenly Snart and Nimbus emerged from the trees, walking side by side and conversing. Snart was still carrying his cold gun, but it was lowered, at his side. As they walked, Kyle broke off and trotted over to Mardon, who was hunkered down behind a snowdrift, and leaned down to speak to him. The snowball fight broke up momentarily, the Rogues gathering in an amiable group and chatting, the laughter continuing as they talked and Kyle gestured towards the trees.

Snart kept walking, striding up to the gazebo. “Axel’s disappeared,” he said. “Nimbus lost him when he went into the trees, and now there’s no sign of him at all.”


	9. Just A Little Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened to Axel? Definitely not a ghost. Definitely not.

“What do you mean, he’s missing?” Barry asked, leaning forward against the press of Mick’s hand and giving Len an intense look. A look Len recognized - the look of Barry Allen about to go off heroing.

“I mean, we looked for him, and he’s gone,” Len growled. He holstered his gun and leaned against the railing, picking up his mug of hot chocolate. It was cooling already, the marshmallows congealing into a bubbly mush on top. Just the way he liked it. 

“Well, are you sure Nimbus didn’t—”

“Nope. No opportunity. I was too close. He couldn’t have hidden the body so fast,” Snart said. “Not much snow under the trees, so we lost his footprints and decided if he didn’t want to be found, that was his problem.” 

He shrugged and glanced over at James Jesse, who was in the midst of packing up his tools and books. Probably better tell the guy his son had vanished, though Axel couldn’t have wandered far. The only thing giving Len some disquiet over the whole thing was the fact that there was no particular reason why Axel Walker should have hidden himself at all. Maybe he was just scared of Kyle Nimbus. Couldn’t really blame the kid if that was true.

And if that were true, he would come out eventually. Snart shrugged and regarded Barry once again. He could tell Jesse later, if Walker didn’t show up. How much trouble could the kid get into, anyway? They were all villains here. Survivors. The worst trouble he could get into on the grounds was to trip and fall in the snow.

The snowball fight resumed, Nimbus joining in once again. The entire group seemed determined to get Hartley, who had gotten in a few good shots. He was quick and fairly smart in his movements, keeping hidden, but eventually he went down in a hail of snowballs and the five Rogues mostly devolved into throwing unformed handfuls of snow at each other for a few moments before the entire battle came to a draw. They all lay around in the snow for a few minutes, laughing and trash talking each other.

Jesse got up presently and headed inside, humming to himself. Flushed from the cold and exertion, the snow-battle contingent moved to follow. 

Barry was practically vibrating in Mick’s lap - though not _actually_ vibrating, this time, or Mick would probably be enjoying himself even more than he already was.

“Calm down,” he told the hero sharply. 

“I could just— I mean, Axel’s still not back. I could just take a little run around the grounds,” Barry wheedled. “Make _sure_ everything’s okay. Wouldn’t take me two seconds.”

“You aren’t considering that, are you Snart?” Mick asked, rolling his eyes.

“No, I’m _not_ ,” Len said, and Barry sagged, pouting.

The snow was starting to come down again, thick white flakes in bunches settling themselves over the disturbed snow where the fight had taken place. Soon it would obscure the traces, leave just soft humps where footprints had been. Mick set down his empty cup and Lisa picked it up, then rose, taking Barry’s from him. “Getting cold out here,” Mick commented. “This is just like you Snart, to pick a frigid wasteland to have your goddamn party—”

“Snart!” There was a poof, and Shawna appeared right next to them. “Everyone, have you seen Axel?”

Snart suppressed any urge to startle when Peek-a-boo appeared, determined to appear as cool and collected as ever. Mostly, he succeeded. “No, we haven’t. He disappeared after Nimbus went after him. Little snot’s probably still hiding in a hole somewhere, why?”

“Because he totally wrecked the chalet!” she exclaimed.

“ _What_?” Lisa almost dropped her tray of mugs. Her eyes narrowed and she started towards the chalet with a determined step in spite of her high heels. “Are you serious?”

Snart started after her, momentarily forgetting that Barry wouldn’t be able to follow very quickly. 

“Hey Snart, you expect me to stay out here with the kid or what?” Mick snapped. He was probably getting sick of being outside in the cold.

“Bring him,” Len said, not slowing down. “Just carry him if he can’t keep up.”

“Right,” Mick growled, and from Barry’s protesting yelp, he must have decided to do just that. Indeed, Mick caught up to Len before he had even reached the door, and he had Barry over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, the kid looking distinctly chagrined and red-faced with his ass in the air and his head hanging down.

Lisa had stopped dead right in the doorway, and Len came up behind her, annoyed that she was in the way. “Lisa, can you— well… shit.” He could see more than well enough over her shoulder, and he couldn’t blame her for stopping.

The chalet was indeed a wreck. Paper chains and decorations had been pulled down, and the tree toppled over, spilling dirt and ornaments everywhere. Furniture had been overturned. Bottles had been smashed, and a sickly miasma of spilled liquor hung over everything. The rest of the Rogues - minus Axel Walker - were standing in the midst of the devastation, mostly arguing.

“Well, you can’t blame _me_ for this,” James Jesse was exclaiming, arms spreading to encompass the entire place. “You know very well I was outside the whole time. You were right behind me when we came in, Roy, you can’t say that you weren’t.”

“But he’s _your_ fucking son,” Roy snapped, his eyes flashing red behind the protective lenses of his glasses. His powers wouldn’t affect anyone so long as he had them on, but it was a clear threat.

“And we all know I’m a complete failure as a father! Surely one must wonder if I’ve _ever_ been able to control what that boy does!” James pointed out, somewhat reasonably.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Lisa said in a very calm, very even tone. The kind of tone that put ice in even Leonard’s veins. 

“Rory, put me dow— oof.” Barry landed on his feet when Mick dropped him, and staggered, catching himself on Leonard’s arm. He then paused and stared. “Oh my god… what _happened_ here?”

“Don’t know.” Snart slipped past Lisa and stomped into the room. “Everyone stop arguing,” he snapped, and almost like magic, everyone turned to look at him. “First, has anyone checked the rest of the house? Is it all destroyed, or just in here?”

There was a general murmur indicating that no one had yet checked anywhere but in the greatroom, and he pointed at Shawna. “Go check the rooms. Even mine. Go now. Be _careful_ , there could be booby traps, but they’re probably on the doors themselves if they’re anywhere.”

“You got it,” she said, and vanished in a puff of smoke.

“Next, you all need to clean this place up,” Len growled. “Walker might have also planted bombs in all this, which we won’t _find_ if we don’t look. So get started.”

“What about _finding_ the little bastard?” Mark Mardon exclaimed, fists clenched. “He’s fucking _dead_.”

“Yes, he is,” Snart agreed, and turned around. Barry, Mick, and Lisa were still standing in the doorway. Len walked back towards them and dropped to one knee. He produced his key and undid the chains constraining Barry’s legs. 

He stood up. Barry was gaping at him. So was pretty much everyone else. 

He grabbed Barry hard by the chin and leaned in close. “ _Find_ him. Bring him back here to me. Do _not_ forget your promise, or I will hunt down and kill every person you love.”

“A-are you really gonna kill him?” Barry stammered.

“Do as I say, Flash.”

Barry disappeared in a bolt of lightning. Snart watched the flickers of yellow light rush across the snow covered field and disappear into the trees, hoping that he hadn’t just made a big mistake. 

He turned around and regarded the rest of them, then walked over to the bar. “We’re cleaning up,” he snapped. “Get to it.” 

He started picking up bottles, placing any that weren’t broken back on the shelves. Mick and Mark righted the tree, then Mardon bent down, carefully using one of his whirlwinds to pick up all of the dirt and deposit it back into the pot. Neat trick, that. Roy, James, and Hartley set about righting furniture, and Lisa moved around the room picking up decorations and pillows and other odds and ends to put them back where they belonged. 

So far, no bombs, but they had only checked a small portion of the room before Shawna returned. She was a little out of breath. “The bedrooms seem okay, but the kitchen is a wreck, too, and the window was open,” she reported. “I don’t see any sign of boobytraps, but I didn’t spend a lot of time looking. I’ll go check the upstairs and basement now.” And once again, she was gone.

Then there was a rushing sound, and the windows rattled. Somewhat to Leonard’s surprise, Barry was back. He stopped in the middle of the room, and Snart saw he had the tall, lanky form of Axel Walker held in his arms. “I found him by the woodpile,” he said, panting slightly as he laid the man down on one of the sofas.

Axel’s eyes were closed and his face was covered in blood. He was breathing shallowly.

“My boy!” Jesse exclaimed, rushing over. “What did you do to him?”

“I found him like that,” Barry said, glancing at Snart and backing away from the stricken Axel to give James room to fuss. “I don’t think he’s the one who did this, guys. I mean, someone hit him from behind, and he was just laying there in the snow.”

“Does somebody smell fire?” Mick growled, and everyone looked around in alarm.

“Uh, Flash?” Lisa said, pointing. Barry’s shoes were smoking. 

He yelped and stomped a couple of times, then sat down and shed them entirely. Mick threw them out the back door, and they sizzled in the snow.

“No wonder you wear that suit,” Hartley said, arching a brow.

In all the excitement, Len wandered over to his charge, planting himself next to Barry, but peered at Walker. His lips were turning blue and he was pale from blood loss. Barry was definitely right. He had probably been lying out there for a while, far too long for him to have been able to do this damage and then get hit. 

Which brought up another question, but it was Hartley Rathaway who asked it first. “Well then,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “If Axel didn’t do this, then who did? We were all together the entire time.”

“Nimbus and Snart,” James said, pointing at Kyle, who bristled. “ _You_ , Mr. Nimbus, intended to harm my son. And the only one who can truly say what happened in the trees are the two of you. You hit my son, and Snart, _you_ let him get away with it.”

Kyle stepped forward deliberately, his eyes lighting with an unhinged glow. “If I was gonna hurt him, you can _bet_ there wouldn’t be a mark on him, and he’d be _dead_.”

“Besides,” Len drawled, rolling his eyes. “Why would I let him get away with it? You all know the Rules. If any of you kill any of the others at this party, I’ll ice you. I wouldn’t cover it up, Nimbus would be a green popsicle.”

Nimbus frowned at this, but nodded. “Also true.”

“ _Also_ ,” Lisa said pointedly, one hand on her hip as she glared at James. “Nothing about your theory would explain why - or _when_ \- either my brother or Kyle could have destroyed the chalet. Lenny came outside with me and Hart and the Flash, and the chalet was fine then, and he didn’t go anywhere near the house before he came back with Kyle.”

“My sister is correct,” Len said coldly. “The simple fact is, none of us could have done this.”

Shawna appeared at the bottom of the stairs in a puff of smoke. “So everything else seems fi— oh.” She stared at Axel for a moment, then looked around. “Are you all stupid? What are you standing around arguing for? He’s hypothermic. James, help me get him back to your room so we can warm him up.”

James jumped and hurried to scoop up his son. “Ah…yes, of course.” In a few seconds, James, Axel, and Shawna had disappeared up the hallway.

Barry got to his feet, and looked around. “So… _what_ then? Who did this if it wasn’t any of us?”

Len glanced at the Flash, then around at the rest of the Rogues. “Obviously, there’s someone else on this mountain. And they don’t like us much.”

“I didn’t see anyone else when I searched around just now,” Barry said, eyebrows drawing together.

“Like _you_ would tell us,” Mardon growled. “Maybe you and this person are in cahoots. Snart should never have let you run off at all - and on that note, are you nuts?” he added, turning the glare on Snart. “What’s next? You’re gonna just let him escape, now?”

“If I hadn’t let the Flash off the chain, Axel might’ve been dead by the time we found him,” Len pointed out coolly. “We have an understanding, and he’s going to behave himself.” He looked at Barry. “Aren’t you?”

Barry flushed under his cowl. “Yes, I am.” Mardon rolled his eyes. “I am!” Barry protested. “And I _didn’t_ see anyone, I swear!”

“How did anyone run around destroying our stuff and hitting Axel Walker without leaving tracks?” Hartley put in.

“That’s what I’m saying! Maybe there _were_ tracks,” Mardon said accusingly. “Maybe the _Flash_ knows exactly who it is, because it’s his little STAR Labs friends.”

Barry was starting to look angry. “It’s not! I don’t know who it is! I didn’t see any tracks, though…” He paused, looking chagrined. “I wasn’t paying attention, so I guess if there were any tracks that weren’t Axel’s, I might have destroyed them with my speed.”

Mardon threw up his hands in an angry gesture, as if to say ‘you see?’.

“Well, it’s not a _ghost_ , obviously,” Roy said with irritation. “Whoever it was, had to have left tracks before the Flash messed them up.”

“Right… not a ghost, not a Rogue, not the Flash,” Mick growled. He had his heat gun in his hands, caressing the fuel chamber lovingly with his fingers. “And we don’t know where they are. So where do we start looking for them?”

No one had any suggestions.


	10. Did You Get the Name of the Truck That Hit Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Axel Walker, Corporate Scapegoat

The Rogues and Barry spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning up the greatroom and the kitchen. Snart wasted no time after Axel’s rescue locking Barry’s legs in chains again, which was so _frustrating_. He’d finally gotten to feel the wind in his hair for a few moments, and it was somehow even worse, after that one brief taste of freedom, to go back to shuffling around and tripping over himself.

It seemed to somewhat mollify Mardon, but Barry didn’t think that was a good enough reason to do it.

So he had to admit he spent most of the afternoon in a sullen silence, on his knees picking up shards of glass and wiping up liquor with rags and towels and considering how much easier and faster it all would be if they would just let him speed-clean the place.

Only a few of the liquor bottles had actually smashed, at least, but the kitchen was in just as poor a condition as the main room. Half the dishes had been smashed on the floor, and a lot of the food had been thrown around as well. Thankfully, most of the food survived the prank, and they weren’t going to starve or anything, though Barry wondered if the Rogues had considered his appetite in making that determination.

Maybe if they ran out of food, they’d all just quit and go home sooner.

Shawna returned at some point to report that she and James had gotten Axel’s core body temperature up again and he was doing okay, which was apparently a relief to exactly no one but Barry. And Barry did have to wonder why anyone would hang out with so many people who clearly didn’t care about each other at all. 

Snart, Rory, and Lisa obviously did have a connection, that was undeniable. But the more Barry spent time with Snart, the more it appeared that this whole situation was stressing him out, and it wasn’t just because Barry was there. So why bring in the rest of them? Even if they worked together, they didn’t seem to _like_ each other.

Though even as he thought it, he wondered if that was even true. The Rogues were rough with each other, but he had watched that snowball fight they were having out on the grounds and it seemed like they were having fun. Killers they might be - and in some cases, overly volatile - but they had for the most part been successful in channeling their violent tendencies into an enjoyable game. None of them had been hurt. Even when Kyle Nimbus had lost his cool for a bit there, it hadn’t taken much for Snart to calm him down again.

It was a stark contrast to Barry’s experience with all of them. He didn’t think he’d ever forget the way Kyle had raged against the walls of his cell in the Pipeline. He’d had nightmares about it for weeks after catching him.

And it belatedly occurred to him, that they really didn’t have anyone else. Weird friends they might be, but probably the _only_ friends some of them had.

They had basically finished up the cleaning and dinner was beginning to smell mouth-wateringly amazing as the sun set behind the mountains. The blizzard had only gotten worse over the last few hours, accompanied by the occasional gust of wind that rattled the house. The clouds were so dense anyway that one could scarcely tell the difference in the light quality before and after the sun had set.

With the bar and the floor around it now spotless, Snart had snagged Barry - literally, by the collar - and pulled him over to a sofa so they could sit and Snart could supervise the remainder of the evening. This time, Barry sat next to him instead of in his lap, and quickly settled against his side to forestall any efforts by Snart to put him in an even more awkward position. Snart made a soft noise of surprised pleasure when Barry tucked his head against his shoulder on his own and rested a hand against his chest. The mobster wrapped an arm around Barry’s shoulders and rubbed his fingers idly against Barry’s bicep, through the soft fabric of his sweater. 

“You really didn’t see anyone?” he asked softly.

Barry bit his lip. “I really didn’t, Snart. Do you have any idea who it is? I mean, you all must have a lot of enemies.”

“Mmm, I’ve been considering it all afternoon,” Snart murmured. “I don’t know of anyone, offhand, who would do this. This isn’t STAR Labs or the police’s style, obviously. If it were the mob, they’d have shot us all up, and they wouldn’t come all the way out here to some isolated chalet to do that, anyway.” He shrugged. “It might be someone who has a problem with Walker, specifically.”

Barry couldn’t argue with any of that logic, and wouldn’t try. He’d been thinking all day, too, but hadn’t come up with anything. “Maybe it wasn’t a person at all. It could be that Axel was running and fell and hit his head. Maybe it was an animal that got in here and panicked, and then ran outside again. Axel could have encountered it and that’s why he got hurt.”

Snart cocked his head. “Possible. Baez did say a window was open in the kitchen.”

“And the woodpile where I found him wasn’t far from the kitchen window,” Barry pointed out.

“You didn’t see footprints, though,” Snart pointed out. “Could be a metahuman.”

“This far from Central City?” Barry replied. He was really warming up to this conversation, lobbing the discussion back and forth like he and Snart weren’t enemies and he wasn’t literally chained up and in his power. It was like talking to Cisco or Caitlin, or even Wells - back when he didn’t know Wells was Eobard Thawne and his mother’s murderer. 

“Even metahumans have cars and access to plane tickets,” Len pointed out. “Just because _you_ have been dealing with them primarily in Central City doesn’t mean one couldn’t come out here.”

“I guess you’re right about that,” Barry allowed. “But I don’t actually know if there were prints or not. I was kicking up a rooster tail out there, so there very well could have been tracks. Why would a metahuman live out here, either? There doesn’t seem to be anywhere to live.”

“Yes, as far as I’m aware, the entire peak is uninhabited,” Len said. “That’s why I chose this mountain for our retreat.”

“Which mountain is it?”

Snart’s fingers stilled, and he breathed out a chuckle through his nose. “Nice try, Flash.”

Barry flushed faintly, but looked up at Snart with what he hoped was an innocent grin. “You can’t blame me for trying to figure out where I am.”

Snart arched a brow. “To what end, if you’re telling the truth about your promise?”

“Oh, uh, well true,” Barry stammered. “I was just curious, really.” He lowered his head again and pressed his ear to Snart’s chest, hearing his heart thumping solidly away in his chest, even though the lightning-bolt earpiece covering it. Snart snorted and returned to that not-unpleasant stroking of his arm.

“Sure you were.”

There was an awkward silence for a few moments, then Barry’s stomach growled audibly. “So…when’s dinner?”

“Soon, I think,” Len said, raising his head to look over towards the kitchen entrance. “I could send someone to check…”

At that moment, James Jesse emerged from the hallway, striding purposefully towards them. “Mr. Snart, Axel’s awake. I’m _presuming_ you’d like to talk to him?”

Snart nodded and tapped Barry on the shoulder, a silent command to get up that Barry obeyed without even thinking about it. Barry got to his feet and looked at Leonard, unsure if he was coming or was going to be shoved into the care of someone else - probably Mick again, since Lisa was busy with dinner, though Barry couldn’t actually see where Mick had gone right now.

His unasked question was answered quickly as Len caught him by the wrist and started towards what Barry thought of as the East Wing - Snart’s bedroom being in the West Wing, though to be honest he had no idea if they actually corresponded to the real east and west. He wondered if it was a coincidence that the two Tricksters had been given a suite about as far away from Snart’s bedroom as was possible, given they were still in the same building. If he were Snart, he wouldn’t want them anywhere near him when he was sleeping, either. Though to be honest, he’d feel the same way about many of the people here.

“How’s he doing, Jesse?” Snart asked as they walked, and James fell in beside them.

“He’s tired, the dear boy, but lucid,” he said. 

“Did he say anything yet?” 

“Only to ask what happened. I explained to him that he’d been attacked, but I’m not sure he’s going to be able to answer any of your questions to _anyone’s_ satisfaction.”

Snart grunted and paused outside a door, waiting for James to open it. The suite beyond was smaller than the one Barry shared with Len, a single room with a fireplace and two queen beds. It was strewn with toys and gadgets, and Barry had to step carefully as they entered. He was in socks rather than shoes, and with his legs constrained, it would be all too easy to step on something and either break it or hurt himself. 

Or, you know, blow something up, since nearly everything was probably explosive.

Len let him go, though, and walked over to the bed that Axel was lying in, letting Barry walk at his own pace. He sat down on the edge, leaning over the younger man and inspecting him.

“Hey, Snart,” Axel said sleepily. “Did you get the name of the truck that hit me?” He frowned. “I mean the license plate?”

“I don’t think it was a truck, Walker,” Snart said. “But it might have a name. What can you tell me?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know. I… I ran from Nimbus and decided to circle around, come back from the other side to give him time to cool off, maybe get another hit in. Then I saw… I think I saw a shadow.”

“A shadow?” Barry blurted out, but Snart glared at him and he pressed his lips together. A shadow _could_ mean a metahuman was responsible. Someone who could make themselves dark? Maybe hide in shadows? If that was the case then they could be hiding in the house and no one would know about it.

“Like a blur,” Axel corrected. “I just caught a glimpse out of the corner of my eye, and then, I think it hit me. Next thing I remember is waking up here.”

Barry frowned. A blur almost made it sound like it was Barry himself, and he could only hope no one was going to try accusing him again. Anyway, he had an alibi. But could it possibly be another speedster? Thawne?

“Was it a human or an animal?” Snart asked, but Axel shrugged and shook his head.

“I don’t know. Not even sure I really saw it.”

Snart nodded and settled back, looking from James to Axel and back. “Did either of you tell anyone you would be here, or is it possible anyone followed you up here? You two were the last to arrive. Also, it could be an enemy of yours specifically targeting you, who took advantage of the delay caused by your scuffle with the Flash to follow along.”

“ _Im_ -possible, my good man,” James exclaimed. “We were as careful as any of you. The reason we were _late_ was because we took the time to ensure that no one could possibly follow us. Obviously we were _mostly_ concerned about the Flash’s little helpers, but that caution extends to anyone else.”

Snart gave a nod and rose to his feet. “Just checking. If you think of anything else, Walker, let someone know. Whatever their reason for attacking you is, I’m sure we’ll find them sooner or later, and deal with them.”

“Yes, thank you, Snart,” James said, inclining his head. “I’m sure whoever it is will regret crossing the likes of _us_ , sooner or later.” He grinned maniacally, and Barry was suddenly quite sure he was right.

He followed Len out of the room. “So… that was useless,” he said with a sigh.

“Mmm,” Len said, not fully a sound of agreement, nor of disagreement. “We need more information,” he added.

At that moment, there was a call to dinner, and Barry set the mystery aside in favour of feeding his ravenous stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet none of you got the joke in the summary.


	11. Don't Ask Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are you my valentine, Leonard Snart? Check yes [ ] or no [ ]

Dinner was served by placing serving platters out in the kitchen. Everyone took what they wanted and retreated to different parts of the house to chat or brood or whatever they wanted to do. Hartley took his meal in his room, as did Axel and James. Len wanted to do the same, but he remained in the great-room, feeling somewhat as if he was simply proving to the universe that nothing could drive him from the main part of the house.

But once Barry was fed - three full plates of food later, and Len had been starting to worry that they _didn’t_ have enough to feed the speedster - he decided that enough was enough. He’d gotten drunk enough the night before, and the games were starting up again, but he had no interest in remaining simply to assert his dominance once again. He’d done enough of that the night before, and he felt like he’d proven sufficiently that the Flash was under his control - and under his protection - by letting him off the leash a bit today and then successfully bringing him back to heel.

Indeed, quite a bit of the tension from the night before wasn’t evident tonight. Mardon didn’t act like an ass even once, and mostly it seemed the Rogues were growing used to the presence of their nemesis in their midst, now that he was apparently cowed and obedient. Barry was playing his part beautifully, in fact, even snuggling up to him without prompting, whenever they sat next to one another. Len could almost believe that he didn’t mind, that he was _enjoying_ it.

Apparently Barry Allen was a better liar than Snart had ever suspected.

So after finishing off the scotch Lisa had brought him, and checking in with Mick - his partner had spent a while prowling the grounds after Barry brought Axel back, to no avail, and he was now sitting as close to the fire as he could without actually setting his clothes on fire - Len took his prize and returned to his room.

Once there, he shut and locked the door, and then regarded his charge, making no immediate move to direct his actions. Barry pulled off his cowl and set it down, then shuffle-walked to the bathroom. Len listened as he brushed his teeth, did his business, then watched as he returned again and sat down on the bed, looking resigned. What a difference from the night before, when Barry had fought him so desperately.

Len walked over to him, and picked up the chain that was still hanging from the bedpost. Barry bent his head, but Len simply unwrapped the chain and dropped it down on the bedside table. Then he knelt to undo the chains at his ankles. He could feel Barry staring at him in amazement, though he didn’t bother to look up and see the expression for himself.

With the chains off, he rose to his feet. “You’ve earned it,” he said, and turned away, heading into the bathroom.

“W-what do you mean?” Barry asked.

“I mean, you’ve behaved yourself,” Len said, wetting his toothbrush. “You kept your promise. You did what I needed you to do, and you didn’t complain. So you’ve earned a night without the chains.”

He stuck his head out of the bathroom and met Barry’s amazed gaze. “Tomorrow?” He shrugged. “Who knows? Keep it up, though, and you can keep things the way they are right now.”

He returned to the sink and brushed his own teeth, then emerged. He walked to the dresser and rummaged through it for his extra pair of soft, flannel pyjamas, then offered them to the speedster. “Here, you can wear these to bed now that it’s not so annoying to change clothes.”

Barry still looked confused, but he nodded and took them. “…Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Snart then moved around the room, shutting off all the lights. Only once the room was in complete darkness did he take his own shirt and pants off and change for bed.

“You’re…not really what I thought,” Barry said, softly.

“Yes, I am,” Len said wryly, buttoning up his nightshirt. “I’m the man who nearly killed Caitlin Snow, just to get your attention. The man who tortured Cisco Ramon’s brother to find out your identity. I’m a thief, a murderer, and an unapologetic criminal.”

There was a long pause. Len wondered if Barry had somehow forgotten some of those details. “I— well, yeah, you are those things,” he said, sounding even more confused than ever.

Len returned to the bed and pulled down the covers, and climbed into bed. After a few moments, Barry did the same. 

There was silence for a long while. Len closed his eyes, though he was aware that - as with last night - Barry’s own breathing didn’t sound like he was anywhere close to sleeping. Maybe the speedster didn’t need to sleep. That had to be irritating.

“Snart?” Barry spoke up suddenly, very softly, as if not wanting to wake him if he’d fallen asleep. 

He hadn’t. “Yes, Barry?”

“Do you…like me?”

Len opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling, though it was too dark to see. He smirked, very deliberately, so Barry would hear it in his tone. “What makes you say that?”

“I…well.” Barry swallowed audibly. “You keep touching me, and Mick Rory sort of implied something, and uh, even Hartley seemed to be trying to tell me to, uh, maybe do something for you, which I think was supposed to be a sexual innuendo, because it sort of always is with him. So. Even Lisa, she…she seemed like she was trying to imply something like that earlier. So…yeah. I just. Wondered.”

Leonard sort of wanted to laugh. He also wanted to punch something.

He turned over and reached out. His fingers brushed against Barry’s cheek, and then drifted up into his soft hair. Hair that he had never really been able to touch all day, since the cowl was always in the way. Barry’s breathing stuttered audibly, and Len’s body tightened at the sound, blood pooling in his groin. He imagined the kid with his eyes wide, lip caught between his teeth.

Terrified, of the criminal who had such power over him, and who also wanted very badly to get into his pants.

“Barry, would you like to suck my dick?” Len asked softly, in a deep, rich, seductive purr.

Barry’s breathing stopped entirely. He swallowed again, trembling under Len’s hand, then gave a strange, whole body vibration that was nothing short of supernatural. “Um…”

Len withdrew his hand and rolled onto his back. “Didn’t think so. Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.”

Eventually, Barry did seem to fall asleep, his breathing evening out and growing deep and calm and slow. So he _could_ sleep, after all. Len palmed himself through his pants, rubbing slowly and teasingly. Imagine if Barry had said yes. Len could so easily picture the younger man going down on him, his cheeks hollowing as he took him in and sucked. He would be an eager lover, so determined to please. 

His breathing stuttered once, control wavering, and Len let go of his dick, rubbing his hand over his face. No, he was not doing this. Not with the kid in bed right beside him. 

Len rolled over onto his stomach and shoved his arms under his pillow. Determined to ignore his hardon, he didn’t move again until it faded, and he was finally able to fall asleep.

* * *

Barry woke with his left hand chained to the bedpost, morning wood, and the feeling of missing warmth on his back where Snart had just been. He had actually slept, finally, which was a huge improvement over the previous night. He had a feeling his stupid impulse to ask Captain Cold if he had a crush came more from exhaustion than anything else.

He was more convinced than ever that Snart wanted him, though he wasn’t dumb enough to think it went beyond that. He also couldn’t really understand _why_ Snart was so attracted to his skinny, nerdy self. But the part that bothered him the most, to be quite honest, was that last night when Len had asked him to give him a blow job, Barry had very nearly said yes.

It wasn’t like it would have been his first. He’d fooled around with a friend in college, though he’d never told anyone about it. He considered himself to be bi, maybe straight-leaning, though now he was starting to revise that image of himself.

The sound of showering drifted from the bathroom. Had Len really felt the need to lock him up so he could shower? Apparently so.

Well, Snart seemed to be taking his time this morning, so that meant Barry hopefully had the opportunity to take care of something. Luckily, Snart had only chained up one hand, and it wasn’t his dominant. He untied the drawstring and slid his free hand under the elastic waistband of the flannel pants Len had lent him, curling his fingers around his erection. 

Barry had always had a pretty healthy libido, and after being struck by lightning it had only gotten, well, _more_. He generally masturbated both first thing in the morning, and right before bed, and often took time to beat off in the middle of the day if he could find an opportunity. It didn’t help that he had little to no refractory period, and his biorhythms were so fast that half the time it felt like he packed several days of life into each day. 

It was now his third day of being the Rogues’ prisoner, and he hadn’t jerked off once. It was definitely overdue.

He stroked himself slowly at first, eyes closed, focusing in on the feeling of his fingers moving over his dick. He had a rich fantasy life to go with that libido, and normally he might picture one of the girls he knew, or an actress - or sometimes, actor - that he liked. A couple of times, even someone like Oliver Queen or Cisco might feature in one of his mental movies. 

This time, though, it was Cold. 

He tried picturing someone else, _anyone_ else, but his mind kept drifting back to the feeling of Len’s hands on his body, the way his voice had sounded when Barry was vibrating against him - like he was unmanned and all of his usual cool and collected demeanor had been shattered. Was that why he wanted him? Because of his powers?

No, Barry was pretty sure this attraction went further back than that incident. Snart had already been feeling him up before that happened, and he had seemed startled by what Barry could do. 

Barry wondered what it’d be like if he did take him up on it. Would he be harsh and cruel, with biting fingers taking what he wanted? Barry imagined that, Snart pushing him down, removing his clothing ruthlessly - he didn’t have to imagine what that might be like - but in his mind the mobster took it further, pinning his arms down, chaining them to the bed and then forcing Barry’s legs open to Snart’s inspection. In his mind, Snart smirked and ran his hands possessively over Barry’s body, murmured filthy things he was going to do, whether Barry liked it or not.

Barry’s breathing sped up, the pace of his hand increasing. He bit his lip, gasping, allowing himself to voice a soft moan that he was confident wouldn’t be overheard by Snart in the shower. 

In reality, Len hadn’t really been that way at all. He hadn’t touched Barry under his clothing, not once, and had seemed offended when Barry feared that he would do exactly what he was fantasizing about now. But somehow, the fact that Barry was no longer really worried about Len assaulting him, made it possible for him to fantasize about it happening. 

In his mind’s eye, Snart pushed into him, cold fingers scraping down Barry’s ribs, a hand fisting possessively in Barry’s hair and chapped lips mouthing at the column of his throat. _”You’re mine, Flash,”_ Cold murmured. _”I’ll do whatever the hell I want to you.”_

“Yes, Snart. Please…” Barry gasped aloud, shuddering, chasing that dangling edge of completion. And then, to his horror, he heard the door from the bathroom open. He had been so wrapped up in his fantasies, that he hadn’t even heard the shower shut off.

He panicked. His hand moved in a blur, bringing himself off in an instant. He opened his eyes, realizing to his horror that there were no tissues on the bedside table next to him. Even worse, he was obviously flushed and panting, as his and Len’s eyes met across the room. The Rogue’s skin was still moist from the shower and he was wrapped in a long terrycloth robe. 

His lips curved in a knowing smirk, and Barry wished he could just sink into the floor.

Len picked up a box of tissues from a table and chucked it at Barry, who caught and fumbled it in his embarrassment. Then Len was right beside him, unlocking the chain at his wrist.

“Clean up, kid, it’s your turn.”

Barry flashed into the bathroom and shut the door, trying to ignore Snart’s laughter.


	12. What Are You Wearing?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, Barry Allen!

The kid was gone in a flash - literally - and Len was left to ponder what he’d heard.

He’d risen early, not lulled into sleeping in this time by a combination of drink and a warm, lithe body held in his arms. Though he had woken with Barry snuggled up against him - this time it was Barry who had moved, he was sure, as he was still lying on his back. He had forced himself up and into the shower before he could give in to temptation.

Temptation had been dealt with by a cool shower and his own right hand once again. 

But he hadn’t anticipated emerging from the bathroom to see Barry with his face flushed and blankets rumpled around him, moaning Snart’s name as he jerked off, like the star in a porno. 

_Damnit,_ he thought, even as he teased and laughed it off. He saw the look of horror and mortification in Barry’s face before he vanished. It was only going to be a hundred times harder to ignore his own desire for the younger man, now. Not that he’d been doing a stellar job at it so far.

Though there was now a curl of warm smugness and pleasure running through him that he thought might last all day. Barry might not be willing to admit it, but apparently he wasn’t as horrified by the idea of Len as he wanted him to believe. Not if he was jerking off to him.

He changed quickly while Barry was occupied by his own showering, pulling on another sweater - this time one that Lisa had gotten him and insisted he wear today. It was black, as per his usual style, but it was covered in massive pale blue snowflakes. Horrible. Not as horrible as the one Lisa had gotten Mick, though. Thank god.

There was a knock at the door, and Len opened it up. To his satisfaction, Hartley stood looking vaguely irritated outside the door, holding a covered tray and a fresh change of clothes for Barry, including a new pair of shoes. “Breakfast in bed for you and your boytoy,” Hartley drawled, cocking his head to peer past him. Len might have made an issue of it, but Barry was safely tucked away so Hartley couldn’t see him. Len had no intention of letting any of the Rogues learn the Flash’s identity this week, no matter how difficult they made it.

“Thanks, Rathaway,” he purred, taking the tray.

“Too bad you had Rory burn the leather, he looks so good in it,” Hartley said as he placed the change of clothes on top. “By the way, Lisa says present opening in one hour,” he went on, his eyes dropping down to the horrific sweater Len was wearing, and then up at his face again, bemused. “Why are we opening presents on Boxing Day, anyway?”

“Because we’re _rebels_ , and if Santa were the one bringing us gifts, it’d just be coal under the tree,” Snart replied, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, these aren’t real presents. You’ll see.”

Hartley frowned faintly, then shrugged. He leaned forward conspiratorially. “So, how is he?”

Len would have facepalmed, but he was holding a heavy tray. He eyed Hartley. “Hmm?”

“You _know_ ,” Hartley said eagerly. “Does he vibrate when you’re fucking him? Can he control it? Is it really good?”

“Like a goddamn living fleshlight,” Len said, feeling a surge of black rage that clawed its way up from his stomach and into his throat. “You need anything else, Rathaway?”

Some of his anger at Hartley’s line of questioning must have made it to his eyes, because the kid jerked back a step, eyes widening. “Ah…no. Um. No offense, Snart. Really, I was just kid—”

It was a good thing that step back took Hartley out of the doorway, because Len turned away dismissively and kicked the door shut. It slammed hard enough to rattle in its frame.

Barry emerged from the bathroom accompanied by a puff of steam, narrow hips wrapped in a towel and rubbing his hair dry with a second one. He looked around in alarm. “What was that?”

“Hartley brought us breakfast,” Len growled and set the tray down. 

“Oh…kay?”

“He’s Hartley,” Len explained, sitting down and removing the cover from the tray. There was one plate with a normal amount of food and one with at least three times as much, thank god. Barry relaxed and chuckled with understanding, then took his clothing and retreated to the bedroom to change. Len didn’t watch, instead digging into his pancakes.

Barry joined him shortly. Len was disappointed to note that he was not wearing a Christmas sweater, though of course that only made sense. Where would Lisa have gotten one for him? 

The kid got an eyeful of his own sweater, though, as he sat down, and stared. “What are you _wearing_?”

Len hid his smile by shoving a mouthful of pancakes into his mouth. “Clothes,” he said serenely.

“That sweater is— it’s a _Christmas_ sweater.”

“ _Really_? I had no idea, Flash,” Len retorted, smirking widely.

Barry gaped at him for a few moments, as if seeing Captain Cold wearing an ugly Christmas sweater was rearranging his worldview. Then he turned away and picked up his own plate with an air of distraction, beginning to eat. 

Len finished his own food, aware that he was probably _dripping_ with smugness, and not caring one bit.

“Are you going to chain me up again?” Barry asked curiously, after a while. 

“Nah,” Len said. He set his empty plate down and rose to his feet. “Unless you give me trouble, that is.”

“I won’t,” Barry said earnestly. This time, Len believed it. He picked up the chains and shoved them into his pocket anyway, just in case.

One would never know that the great room had been half destroyed the previous day. All of the Rogues were up and bustling around. The scent of cookies, cinnamon, and eggnog filled the air, along with more instrumental festive music from Hartley’s ipod. There was a pile of brightly-wrapped packages under the tree. For the first time, it occurred to Len to wonder if Lisa was intentionally working this hard to relieve some of the pressure off of him, so he could actually enjoy the festivities.

A strange thought, but one he liked.

“Hey, buddy!” Mick greeted him expansively. “The nog’s got too much rum in it. The bird’s in the oven. And it’s fucking freezing outside. Merry Christmas.”

Len found himself grinning. He crossed the room and clapped Mick on the back, then flopped onto the sofa next to him. Barry followed, taking the remaining seat, and Len wrapped his arm around the kid, drawing him in close. “Merry Christmas, Mick. How much of that eggnog have you had so far?”

“Not _nearly_ enough.”

Len snagged two shortbread cookies and offered one to Barry, who shook his head. He shrugged and ate both of them, letting his head fall back slightly and sighing in appreciation of their buttery goodness. 

The rest of the Rogues were gathering as well, taking seats around the tree and chattering. Axel and James were nowhere in evidence, but it turned out that they had apparently left early that morning, before the snow closed in again. They hadn’t said anything to anyone about it, but their black SUV was gone, so that was the general conclusion. 

Len was just fine with that - the less time he had to spend with those lunatics, the better.

Lisa emerged from the kitchen with another plate of cookies, setting them down and beginning to hand out gifts. She was also wearing a Christmas sweater, this one somehow also a dress, all red with little snowflakes on it and two massive golden Christmas baubles right over her breasts, and trimmed at the bottom with faux fur. 

Each and every person in the room except for Len got a package, and each and every one contained a Christmas sweater, each one more horrible than the last. Mick’s was bright red and had a devil on it, holding chains and torturing a stitched-on person with flames. Hartley’s was green and just had two baubles on it as well, emblazoned with the single word ‘Balls’.

They were all filthy, all hilarious, and Len had a hard time maintaining his stoic persona as he delighted in Lisa’s appropriate choices and dirty mind. 

Mick stripped his shirt off instantly upon opening the present to pull his sweater on, and rose to give Lisa a kiss on the cheek in thanks. “Good choice, babe,” he said, grinning widely. Everyone else changed into them as well, though some were more reluctant than others, pulling off their shirts and putting on their sweaters with no more than a little grumbling. 

Then Lisa grabbed one last present from under the tree, and approached Len, holding it out. “We’re not quite done,” she said brightly. 

Len blinked up at her, reaching for the present. “But I’ve already got mine, sis.” Len had, of course, received his present early so he wouldn’t have to change his shirt in front of anyone else.

She jerked the present out of reach. “It’s not for _you_ , Lenny.” And she held it out again. “It’s for the Flash.”

Barry started and straightened up a little. “For me?” He sounded more wary than appreciative, but he took the gift and unwrapped it, revealing a bright red sweater for himself. His had a red-nosed reindeer on it, and speed lines, and not a trace of the kind of filthy charm that the others had had - which fit Barry far better, anyway. Len approved.

“Nice one, sis,” he said. “Where’d you get it?”

“Went into town early this morning,” Lisa said with a shrug. “I couldn’t leave him out, could I? Anyway, the way he eats, I thought I should stock up the pantry as well, just in case. The roads are getting pretty bad, though. I don’t think it’d be a good idea to go out again until the snow clears up.”

“Y-yeah, thanks Lisa, that’s really sweet of you,” Barry said, and pulled his own sweater off, to put this one on. 

Len turned his head to watch him, hearing a suspicious sniff, but Barry kept his head down and snuggled in close as soon as he’d changed, burying his face against Len’s chest. Len couldn’t understand why being given an intensely ugly sweater would prompt tears, but he felt wetness soaking through the fabric of his sweater and couldn’t deny that, for some reason, the Flash was crying.

Lisa walked away and for the moment the attention was off of them. Len bent his head to speak softly to Barry. “You need a minute?”

Barry shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said, muffled.

Frowning, Len settled back and pretended it wasn’t happening, chatting with Mick until the wetness stopped flowing and Barry relaxed against him once again, apparently over his waterworks for now.

The rest of the day passed smoothly. The blizzard hadn’t let up at all, and in fact had worsened to a true winter storm. At times the gusts of wind were so powerful that they rattled the windows. Once, they all heard rapid popping sounds like a series of gunshots, and the entire group dove for cover, only for Kyle to go look and inform them that the sound had been all of the huge icicles cracking off of the roof in the wind and shattering on the ground.

So they couldn’t go outside, but there was more than enough to do. There were cookies and drinks to share, more hot chocolate with marshmallows, and a stack of games. They played poker and Trivial Pursuit and Cards Against Humanity. 

Barry lost spectacularly at chess to Hartley half a dozen times. Len supervised all of that from a chair beside him, amusing himself by distracting Barry at intervals with his thumb rubbing up and down the back of his neck, up under the cowl to touch his soft hair. 

When it finally came, dinner was a cheerful affair. The dining room had a long table with more than enough seats for everyone. Len chained Barry to a chair - mostly for show, since if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that Barry wouldn’t be going _anywhere_ so long as there was food in front of him. He placed the chair somewhat away from the table, at a side board right behind Len.

Len sat at the head of the table. Mick and Lisa took the seats at his right and left hands, and he presided over the meal like a king at his court.

Three courses later, Mick passed around the bottle of sherry and they were all practically dozing in their chairs from the tryptophan. Len decided to call it a night, and hauled Barry back to their room without further ceremony. 

Barry groaned and rolled onto the bed once they were alone, holding his stomach. He had pretty much polished off the remainder of the carcass, whatever the others hadn’t eaten. Len still couldn’t believe how much food he could pack away. He brushed his teeth quickly and shut off all the lights, stripping down to nothing and then dressing in soft flannel before he joined him. Maybe Barry intended to sleep in that sweater, maybe with nothing else on.

That would be hot as hell.

He indulged himself by tugging Barry back into his arms, wrapping around him and resting his chin on the boy’s shoulder. Barry suffered that without complaint, though his breath caught in his throat before he let it out.

“Good day,” Len commented, warm and content.

“Yeah…” There was something raw in Barry’s voice, and Len frowned. He rubbed his hand up and down Barry’s chest awkwardly, confused. Was he crying _again_?

“You want me to back off?” he asked. Was it the rape thing again? Was Barry afraid? He started to withdraw, and Barry grabbed his hand, holding it tight.

“N-no, no, it’s fine.” There were definitely tears, and Barry’s voice shook with them. Caught between the act of pulling away and Barry’s obvious desire that he stay close, Len froze, completely at a loss. He had never comforted someone who was crying before, at least not since Lisa when she was about eight years old. Neither of the Snart children had cried in years.

Barry seemed to know what to do, though. He turned onto his side and buried his face in Len’s chest, sniffling, his fingers grabbing onto the soft flannel and curling up tight. 

It was shocking to be so vividly confronted with just how young Barry really was. No, it wasn’t really his youth - he was an adult - but he was so _innocent_. Barry came from a world Len couldn’t even relate to. A world where he hadn’t been beaten viciously for the ‘gay’ trait of crying when he was in pain. Len had only really seen him as the Flash before, strong and inhumanly powerful and _heroic_. This was another side of him entirely that Len didn’t know how to react to.

Len patted him on the back uncertainly.

After a few minutes, Len decided to just ask. “What’s wrong with you?”

Barry drew in a breath, shakily, and let it out on an actual sob. “I-I’m sorry. I know, you don’t really care. I don’t mean to be annoying. I just.” He swallowed, sniffling again. “Joe and Iris… I’ve been missing for days. They have to be so scared for me. And yesterday I should have opened presents with them. And tonight, I… I’ve had Christmas dinner with the Wests every Boxing Day since my mom died. I should’ve been with _them_ , tonight.”

 _You don’t really care. I don’t mean to be annoying._ Those words echoed accusingly in Len’s ears. 

“I’m sorry, kid,” he said, and he meant it.

He held Barry, and Barry sobbed quietly until his breathing slowly evened out to sleep. And Snart wondered why it felt like each sob was a needle stabbing him in the gut.

“You don’t deserve this,” he told Barry’s sleeping form, softly, so he wouldn’t wake him. He was still holding Barry close against his chest, the fabric soaked with tears, when he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the sweaters are pretty much ones I found online. 
> 
> Len’s I made up, but it probably exists because I found similar ones, just not the exact same colour scheme. Lisa’s is real but I turned it into a sweater dress. Mick’s and Hartleys are real. Barry’s I made up but is probably real.
> 
> I didn't describe Roy's, but I like to think Lisa somehow found one of a person punching another person in the face.


	13. You Aren't That Virtuous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Open shirt: Insert headcanon

The fourth day of Barry Allen’s captivity with the Rogues began with a feeling of intense, unrelenting embarrassment and only got worse from there.

He woke slowly as the sun hit his face, as he did most mornings that his alarm failed to go off. What wasn’t usually present was the uncomfortable feeling of having slept in a pair of jeans that didn’t fit him perfectly, and the soft texture of flannel under his cheek.

Then he remembered. He had cried himself to sleep in the arms of Captain Cold.

He wrinkled his nose and looked up. Snart’s eyes were open and he was looking down at him with bemusement. “Good morning, Barry,” he said. “How’re you feeling, today?”

Barry winced. “Okay,” he said.

Snart cocked his head. “You sure?”

Barry pulled away, scowling, unsure if he was being teased or not. There was no hint of true concern in the other man’s tone, so he could only assume Snart was making fun of him. “What are you getting at, Snart?”

The older man rolled onto his back and stretched, joints crackling and his nightshirt riding up a tiny slice. Barry glanced down and Len dropped his hand, tugging the hem down in an automatic gesture. “Just figuring out the lay of the land,” he said, glancing at Barry sidelong. “You were pretty emotional yesterday. If you need a time out, need to be alone for a bit, I can make those arrangements. Just say the word.”

Or maybe this really was meant to be some kind of attempt to be sympathetic. Barry frowned, confused by the offer. “You don’t really want to, though. You… you _like_ having me all over you. Showing me off.”

“I do.”

“Then… why even suggest it?”

Len got to his feet and rounded the bed, walking into the bathroom. “Don’t think too hard about it, kid. It’s your choice whether to take me up on the offer or not. I don’t care either way.” The door closed.

Barry sat for a moment, and considered what Snart had said. The idea of being locked in a room all day didn’t appeal to him, and he wasn’t really tempted by what Snart had suggested. What he didn’t understand was why it had been offered in the first place.

Why was Snart being so nice to him? The first day had been…difficult, but Barry had been paying attention. He understood now. Len was different in front of the Rogues than he was when it was just Lisa and Mick, or even Barry. He laughed with Mick, adored Lisa, endured teasing from both of them no differently from any family. 

But when the other Rogues were paying attention to him, he was hard, cold, uncompromising, even cruel. He would do things like treat Barry like a pet or a prisoner, then when they were alone, he would hold him close and kindly while he sobbed his heart out. 

Barry was starting to realize that the person he had always seen might not be the real Leonard Snart after all.

Yet even as he thought that, there was that voice in the back of his head - it mostly sounded like Joe - reminding him that Snart had betrayed him at Ferris Air. He remembered what Snart had said then, too, that he was a liar, a thief, a criminal. That he hurt people. Barry had given Snart a chance to do something good, and he had only done what was selfish.

There had to be something he was trying to get out of being nice to Barry, too. And Barry needed to know what it was, before he forgot that he was supposed to be wary.

He flashed to the bathroom door and opened it. “Snart? I— woah.” 

Leonard was nude, his bedclothes neatly folded on the counter and his hand extended into the shower to test the temperature of the water. His back was to Barry, and it was a _nice_ back, powerful, but not massive. His perpetually bulky clothes concealed a leaner body than Barry had ever suspected. However, it wasn’t the muscles and definition that had Barry stopping dead in his tracks. 

It was the scars.

Some, Barry could identify as the pockmarks of old bullet wounds, but most were not. Some were twisted, jagged lines, others fairly straight. Nearly all of them were old, stretched and warped by a child’s growth, faded by age but still visible. 

There were tattoos, as well, but not as many as Barry might have expected given his history of jail time. He saw a blue shadow in the shape of a flame on Len’s left ass cheek, and a pattern of intricate snowflakes in vivid black ink running down his right arm. That was it. 

“Barry?” Len whirled around, and Barry could see that the scars carried over to the front, too. None of them on his face, or hands, or lower legs. Nowhere that would be seen while he was wearing clothing, so long as he always wore long sleeves and covered up. And there were _so many_ of them.

“Get out!” Len’s eyes were wild with rage, and he lunged towards him. “Get the fuck out!” 

Barry backpedalled automatically in the face of that emotion, his heart in his throat. It reminded him of how angry Len had been when Shawna had teleported into the room the other day. 

The same unreasoning rage at a breach of privacy. And there was something else, too - like desperation, or shame.

“I’m sorry!” Barry exclaimed. He tripped over nothing, maybe over his own feet, and landed heavily on the floor. “I wasn’t thinking! I’m sorry!”

Snart stood over him glaring for a moment and Barry thought for one heart-stopping second that he was going to start kicking and punching. Then Len made a visible effort, and the anger drained from his expression, leaving behind that sardonic, cool mask that Barry now realized was at least half a lie.

“So, now you know,” Snart said, lips twisting, “what you were really jerking off to, yesterday morning.” He spread his hands. “Is it all you imagined, Flash?”

Barry didn’t move, didn’t answer immediately. He’d been frightened at first, but now he was just confused. “What are you talking about?”

Snart’s eyes narrowed, uncertainty flickering there. “Oh _please_ ,” he said finally. “You aren’t _that_ virtuous.”

“Snart—”

“Stay out and do as you’re told,” Snart growled and turned away, stalking back into the bathroom. “You can have your turn after I’m done.” He slammed the door, and Barry heard the lock click.

He sat where he was for a few moments, turning the confrontation over in his mind. Was this why Snart had chained him to the bed yesterday morning? Why he always turned off all the lights before changing for bed? Was he ashamed of the scars?

The thought made Barry’s heart squeeze with sadness. Such rage and shame over something he couldn’t help - something that no doubt his father had done to him. Barry recalled what Joe had told him, way back when he had first foiled the armoured truck diamond robbery, even before Snart had gotten the cold gun. Joe had said that Snart’s father had beat his children, but at the time Barry hadn’t thought much of it other than the fact that his upbringing had obviously contributed to making Snart into the sort of violent, messed up guy he was. But there was more to it than that.

Maybe there really was more to Leonard Snart than _Snart_ thought there was. Maybe Barry could show him that he didn’t have to be this way, that the sort of person his father had taught him to be wasn’t all there was to him.

The only question was how to do it, and Barry was really unsure of where to begin. 

By the time Len emerged from the shower, he appeared determined to pretend the whole incident had never happened. Except that he didn’t bother to hide his body anymore. He came out of the bathroom dressed only in a towel and dressed in full view of Barry. However, Barry noticed that even though he might seem as though he didn’t care, Snart didn’t look in his direction, not once, until he was fully covered once again. 

When they sat down for breakfast in what was starting to feel like a pleasant routine, Barry tried tentatively to broach the subject. “You know, Snart, I don’t… I don’t actually care about the scars.”

It didn’t seem as though that was the correct tack to take right off the bat. Snart just stared at him, his expression dark and cold and forbidding until Barry looked away first. 

They finished their breakfast in silence, then Len got up and unlocked the door. He walked out without a word, and Barry followed, more out of habit than because he felt like his presence was expected - or even welcome.

And so it went from there. The winter storm continued, so everyone was still cooped up inside, however it somehow seemed like everywhere Barry was, Len wasn’t. He would sit down on the sofa, and Len would wander away to get himself a drink or to talk to someone else. After an hour of that, Barry gave up. After all, if Len wasn’t forcing him to snuggle up like they were boyfriends or something, then why was Barry following him around like a puppy dog? He was a superhero, and had gone toe to toe with all of these people and beat them. 

Maybe his speed force wasn’t as accessible as usual - he had _definitely_ felt the difference when he went after Axel and knew that he would have difficulty even getting up to mach one, if that was possible at all with the cuffs on - but that didn’t mean he wasn’t the Flash. He could go pretty fast, even with them on, so long as there weren’t also chains restricting his free range of movement.

So he wandered around and tried to have fun. He avoided some of the Rogues as much as he could, but weirdly, he and Hartley could sort of get along, and he did end up chatting with Shawna for a good hour about shows that they both liked before he broke down and apologized for locking her up in the Pipeline. He wasn’t sure she forgave him, but they did have a good talk and things weren’t too awkward. 

Things weren’t perfect, though, even if you ignored Len’s weird behaviour. Tensions were running higher than they had the day before, and Barry suspected that everyone was starting to feel stir-crazy after a couple of days of being trapped in a small space by the weather. It all came to a head in the early afternoon, when Kyle and Mark nearly came to blows over a stupid card game, and then Len had to get in the middle, wave his cold gun around and order them to different parts of the room. 

Mark stomped off angrily and vanished after that, and Barry couldn’t say he was sorry. Kyle was probably the scariest guy in the room, with his weird, slow way of speaking and his lack of hair, but Mark was the most volatile and had the biggest personal chip on his shoulder when it came to Barry. Also, Barry would never forget that he had caused a tsunami that might have wiped out all of Central City - even though that never actually happened in this timeline.

After that bit of excitement, things calmed quickly. Len and Mick disappeared together into another part of the house, and Barry felt even more alone than before, so he wandered back over to Hartley, wondering if his ego could stand getting his ass kicked at chess again. Hartley was rooting through an antique chest of drawers near the front door. 

“Hey Flash,” he said with a grin.

“Hey Hart,” Barry said, returning the smile. “What’re you up to?”

It was too bad Hartley had been so mad about Eobard Thawne - who he still thought was Harrison Wells - that he’d risked the lives of all those people. Barry really thought the two of them could have been friends. Sure he was stuffy and weird, but when he relaxed he wasn’t such a bad guy.

“Snooping, honestly,” Hartley admitted, a twist to his lips. He glanced back down at the drawer, which was filled with old photographs, yellowed with age.

“Oh, look at all those old photos,” Barry exclaimed. “They’re so cool.”

“Very cool.” Hartley pulled out a handful of photos, and the two of them sorted through them. Stiff-looking men with guns in vintage clothing, First Nations peoples dressed in leather, adorned with feathers and beads, and looking distinctly uncomfortable. 

“You think this place is built on an Indian burial ground?” Barry joked.

“Isn’t the entire continental United States?” Hartley retorted, smiling.

It passed the time, at least, as they pointed out interesting ones, looked on the backs for other clues, and exclaimed over some of the dates written on the backs of some of the ones at the very bottom of the drawer. 

“This place is _old_ ,” Barry said, looking at a photo of two men standing in front of a church, which had been taken before the turn of the century. “You think the chalet was built as long ago as these pictures were taken?”

“I would be surprised if it was,” Hartley said pompously. “It was likely built in the fifties, given the architecture. But the mine was obviously opened in the nineteenth century.” He pushed several photos aside, pulling out one that showed people standing outside a mine entrance. “There would’ve been buildings associated with that. This building was built later.”

“Jeez, a mine, too,” Barry said. “Good thing we’re not protagonists in a horror flick.”

Hartley chuckled, and began putting the photographs away. Then he pointed towards the chess board. “You ready for me to beat you again, Flash?”

Barry sighed and mimed a shot to the heart. “Okay, I suppose I can let you win again.”

“Flash, you never _let_ me win anything,” Hartley retorted, but with only a _little_ bitterness.

Twenty minutes later, Barry was glaring at the board when Lisa appeared and waved at him from the kitchen. “Oh Flash! Honey!” Barry looked around, relieved at the reprieve. He’d just been informed that Hartley would mate in four moves and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out where he had gone wrong. “Can you come help me with something a sec?”

“Uh, sure Lisa,” Barry said, getting to his feet.

“Need something, sis?” Len asked. He was by the bar with Mick, their heads close together as they talked.

“Butt out, Lenny,” Lisa said brightly. She tugged Barry into the kitchen, and he followed along without hesitation, wondering if she needed something that would require his speed. 

“What can I do for—urk!” Lisa pushed him up against the fridge without warning, and he felt the cold, faintly buzzing muzzle of her gold gun pressing against his cheek. She glared at him from inches away, lips pursed with annoyance

“What did you _do_?” Lisa kept her voice soft, though it was no less threatening for her attempt to avoid them being overheard.

Barry lifted his hands, waving them frantically. “What? Nothing! I didn’t do anything! What do you mean?”

“Be quiet! I mean _Lenny_ , you jerk. He’s been avoiding you all day. What did you do to him?”

“I swear I didn’t do anything, Lisa!” Barry hissed, dropping his own volume. He bit his lip. “I, uh, I may have walked in on him in the bathroom this morning, and he freaked out. But I _swear_ that’s it. I don’t know why he’s being so touchy, now. I mean, they’re just scars. I told him that, and he just got angrier.”

Lisa stared at him for a few moments, in which he realized that she really was more like Leonard Snart than he had ever realized. Then she groaned and dropped her gun to point at the ground, powering it down. “I’m gonna kill him. What an idiot.”

“…Um?”

She stepped back, releasing her pressure on his chest and eyed him. “You had better be nice to him, Flash. He’s my brother, and he’s more sensitive than you think.”

“I’m _trying_ ,” Barry insisted earnestly. “I, ah…I’ve sort of figured that out already. About him being sensitive.”

She nodded and leaned forward a little bit. “Also, I’m not so friendly with people who hurt my family.”

Barry nodded, his throat going dry. “I…figured that out, too.”

She beamed and gestured with her gun towards the doorway back into the great-room. “Now, I’m going to go kick my brother’s ass into next week, and _you_ are going to make yourself scarce until I finish doing that. And I promise that by the time I’m done, he’ll be back to his normal self, all right?”

 _You mean murderous and prickly but also weirdly cuddly and nice?_ Barry wondered, but he felt quite differently about it than he might have earlier in the week. “Okay, good,” he said, crooking a sheepish smile. “His normal self isn’t so bad. Actually, I kinda like it.”

She arched a brow. “Really? Hmm.”

She marched away, gold gun still held in her hand, and Barry decided that making himself scarce was actually a good idea. He glanced around the kitchen, which was really quite huge. It had a massive island almost as big as the dining table where they’d eaten the night before, and a double oven, double fridge - basically double everything. At one end was an open doorway and a wide staircase heading down, and Barry made for that, curious what might be down there. 

Since he actually did have the freedom to explore, he might as well use it. If Lisa Snart was right, he’d be back in Len’s lap and unable to wander about in short order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The flame was done in prison after Mick saved Len’s life. Basically, it was a claiming mark (yes this is a real thing) so Mick could ensure that Len was safe from predators. 
> 
> Len got the snowflakes done in a real tattoo parlour after getting the cold gun and embracing the “Captain Cold” moniker. Even still, because of the scars, he doesn’t show off the tats to anyone. Only the artist, Lisa, and Mick have seen them. And now Barry.


	14. The Enemies-With-Benefits Type

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry really shouldn't ever be left unattended.

“You still with me, buddy?”

Len jumped and looked at Mick, who was staring at him unblinkingly, and realized that he’d just been gazing towards the kitchen, wondering what Lisa wanted with his— with the Flash.

“Of course, Mick,” he said hastily. He and Mick had been discussing their next job, a heist they had planned for New Year’s Day immediately after leaving the chalet. It would be good timing, considering that a lot of people would be hung over and businesses would be closed. Though it did also mean that Mick might be hung over, so it required some careful planning to make sure nothing would set his volatile partner off.

His eyes strayed to the doorway again. 

He knew he’d been avoiding Barry all day, but he couldn’t help it. The thought of holding him close and feeling disgust in the young man’s posture, after so many days of indulgence, made his stomach twist. Sure, Barry had swallowed it and tried to reassure him - he was so _sweet_ to lie like that - but there was no chance that Len was as attractive to him now as he was before.

Besides, surely Barry was happy that he was giving him a little space. He was still supervising him from a distance, but everyone seemed to be used to him now, and Len no longer felt like he needed to posture and establish his dominance nearly as much. Unless Barry did something stupid, like disobey him in public. Then he’d need to come down hard on him. Hopefully that wouldn’t be necessary.

“So what happened?” Mick asked suddenly, leaning closer. “You and the kid have a fight?”

Len blinked and looked back at him, then affected an incredulous snort. “No, of course not. This isn’t high school. If we were fighting, he’d be on the floor.”

Mick grinned, showing all his teeth. “Or in the ground.”

“Exactly.” Len turned around and lounged against the bar, surveying his domain. 

“Except you’re a fucking liar,” Mick growled. “You know I don’t like it when you lie to me, buddy.”

Len froze guiltily. “Look, it’s nothing. Forget about it. Everything’s fine.”

“Mmm.”

Lisa emerged from the kitchen and walked over to them. Where was Barry? Len frowned, eyes flicking from his sister to the doorway again, and then back, seeing her determined posture and growing more and more wary. Something was wrong, and _where was Barry_?

“You,” Lisa said, planting herself in front of Len and glaring up at him. “We need to talk.”

“Fine,” Len drawled, though he still had no idea what had a bee in her bonnet. “Mick, go check on the Flash, will you?”

Mick smirked. He picked up his heat gun from off the bar, and holstered it. “With _pleasure_.”

Lisa rolled her eyes, then walked away, jerking her head for Len to follow. He did so, unhurriedly, though honestly he was getting worried. She was clearly pissed off. What had Barry done now? He was starting to wonder if Mick was going to find a golden statue in the kitchen. 

They stepped into the hallway, far enough away from the group that no one would be able to overhear them. Then Lisa rounded on him, stamping one pump-clad foot. “What is _wrong_ with you, Lenny?”

Why did people keep acting like this? “Nothing’s wrong with me.”

“Oh _please_.” She darted her eyes around, then stepped closer, lifting a hand and resting it on his chest. “The Flash told me what happened this morning.”

His eyes narrowed. “ _Did_ he?”

“Yes. So he walked in on you in the bathroom, big deal.” Her eyes softened. “Did he say something?”

Len frowned. “About the scars? Yeah, he said he doesn’t care about them.”

She punched him in the arm. “Then why are you being such a brat? Have you two slept together, yet?”

“No,” Len said coolly, rubbing the spot where she’d punched him. “Why are you asking me like that’s a foregone conclusion?”

“Good god, you might be older and wiser, but you’re definitely the stupid one in the family,” Lisa said, putting her hands on her hips and stepping back. “What if he’s not lying? What if he _does_ want to have sex with you?”

“He doesn’t, Lisa,” Len snapped. “He’s a sweet guy, big heart, but he knows what I am. He isn’t exactly the enemies-with-benefits type. And even if he were, I’m almost twice his age, and he’s— well _hell_ , Lisa. What do you want me to say? The first night he thought I was going to rape him.”

“The _first_ night,” Lisa echoed significantly, arching a brow. “And yet he’s been clinging onto you ever since. Plus, you’re being all broody and morose today. You think I want to see you like that?”

“I’m not in _love_ with him, sis.”

She just rolled her eyes. He wasn’t sure if that was supposed to mean ‘obviously you’re not’ or ‘ _sure_ you’re not’. The rich language of Snart Eyerolling wasn’t up to the task of conveying which particular brand of sarcasm it was on its own.

“ _What_?” he demanded.

She narrowed her eyes, looking up at him. “Listen to me, Lenny, I’m not saying this is white picket fences and all those things that we can never have. I’m saying that you’ve been panting after his pert runner’s ass all week, and I don’t want to see you lose a chance to have a spectacular orgasm just because you’re a big fat coward. Comprende?”

Len gritted his teeth. “Did you learn that word from Cisco?”

“Shut your mouth,” she said sweetly, then glared at him. “Never make me say ‘orgasm’ in any sentence involving my brother again, okay?”

Len ran a hand over his face. “ _Okay_ , Lisa. Are you done?”

She eyed him, looked him up and down critically. Whatever she might have seen must have satisfied her, though, because she nodded. “I’m done. Now, go get that ass before it runs away on you.” 

She turned and sashayed away, obviously very pleased with herself. 

Len sighed. _Well, maybe she’s right,_ he thought, and headed back to the party. He looked around, counting heads, and frowned.

Where the _hell_ was Barry Allen?

* * *

At the bottom of the stairs, Barry found a library, and a massive home theatre system complete with two rows of seating. The library walls were lined with wooden bookcases in a rich buttery oak wood, and the shelves were bulging with books. Some of them were so old the titles were impossible to read, while others were trashy used book store overflow, well-loved by someone before being donated and then winding up here.

Barry beamed and ran his fingers across the spines. He wondered if Len liked to read, whether he even knew that there was this treasure trove of books beneath his feet. He dropped his hand and turned towards the stairs, thinking he would go tell him.

Then he remembered that Snart wasn’t talking to him right now.

He turned back and let his eyes travel over the books once again, and pulled one out at random. He was just opening it to read, when a hand landed on the back of his head and shoved _hard_. Barry’s forehead smacked into one of the shelves and he sagged, but his attacker grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around, slamming his back against the bookshelf again. The book dropped to the floor.

Through the fog of the blow to the head, Barry looked up, and Mark Mardon grinned at him.

“Well, well,” Mark said. His fingers curled tightly in Barry’s shirt, holding him fast against the bookcase.. “Where were _you_ going? Does your master know you’ve slipped your leash, boy?”

Barry opened his mouth to snap back, but lightning crackled in his eyes and time seemed to slow down as he rethought what he was about to do. He was supposed to be cowed, right? Controlled by Leonard Snart.

So as Mark began to speed up to normal again, he turned his head away and sagged in the Weather Wizard’s grasp. “He told me to get him a book,” he lied. “I…I was just looking for it.” _Please believe me. Please._

“Oh _really_ ,” Mark said. “Well, you’d better get back to doing that, huh?” Barry nodded and tried to sidle away, but Mark tightened his grip and slammed him against the wall again. “Hang on,” he said. “I didn’t say I was done with you, yet.”

Barry gritted his teeth, mind racing. He wanted to fight Mark off, but he didn’t dare. He could yell for help, but he sincerely doubted that anyone would hear him.

And even if Len did hear him, would he even come?

He drew a breath. “I belong to Mr. Snart. Let me go, Mark.” _Ugh._

Mark laughed. “’Mr. Snart’ is he? That’s cute. He’s really done a number on you, Flash.” He leaned closer. “But listen, I figure, you might belong to ‘Mr. Snart’, but I’m one of the Rogues. You’re lowest on the totem pole here.”

This wasn’t good. “…So?”

“So I noticed that your master didn’t seem to have much use left for you today. Let you wander around on your own all morning. Seems like he’s bored of you.” 

Barry knew Mark was just talking trash, working himself up to something, but the words hit home, anyway. Something of his chagrin must have shown in his face, because Mark grinned maliciously. 

“Yeah, I know it must hurt your feelings. So why don’t you and I entertain each other, Flash?” Mark growled. He grabbed Barry by the collar and pulled him forward. His other hand rose, a ball of ice forming around his fist. “Like how about you hold still while I enjoy myself, by beating on you a bit. You’ll heal, right? _Eventually_.” He drew back the fist, preparing to slam it hard into Barry’s stomach.

Barry drew a breath to yell for help anyway, but suddenly he heard a very familiar sound of a gun charging up.

Mick Rory stood at the bottom of the stairs, his flame gun pointing straight at them. “Gimme back the boss’ new pet, you shit-stain.”

Mark looked around, tensing. “Look, Rory—”

Mick pulled the trigger. Flames licked towards them. Mark let go of Barry and whirled towards Mick, his hands coming up and ice and wind forming between his fingers, spreading wider to form a shield, but it wasn’t going to be enough. Barry shoved Mark to the side, out of the range of the flames, and then flashed away from the metahuman, stopping and whirling around when he reached Mick’s side.

He’d saved him. The flames licked at nothing but air. Mark pushed himself up, scrambling quickly to his feet again, and Mick took another step forward. One hand snapped out to grab onto Barry’s collar, nearly choking him, dragging him along as he advanced on Mark Mardon. “Fuckhead. You didn’t _listen_. Now you’re gonna _burn_.”

“Stop, Mick!” Barry yelled, strained, pulling against the collar to no avail. 

He vibrated madly, but couldn’t get free. He grabbed at Mick’s arm, but it was like trying to pull on an iron bar. Despite all of the Flash’s efforts, Mick pulled the trigger again. Mark scrambled away and fled, vanishing into the theatre, and Mick continued to advance. Paper crisped and curled, flames licking up the walls.

“You’re setting the whole place on fire,” Barry exclaimed. 

“ _Yeah!_ ” said Mick jubilantly, his eyes widening as he looked around. “Isn’t it _beautiful_?”


	15. What Do You Want Me To Say?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The books are OK, guys. Calm down.

Len walked into the kitchen; the last place he’d seen Barry. Though his expression didn’t change much, he felt a growing curl of panic in his stomach. Where had he gotten off to? With his speed, he could be anywhere, by now - anywhere within the grounds, anyway, but that was still a pretty large area. Len couldn’t think of a reason why Barry would have left the house, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t done it.

But there was the basement to search, so before he panicked, he headed down there.

And found an unmitigated disaster in progress.

He smelled smoke before he was even halfway down the stairs, heard Mick’s gleeful yelling, and instantly deduced what it had to be. He quickened his pace, racing down the last few steps, and beheld Mick walking away from him towards the fire and the second set of doors leading into the theatre, dragging a struggling Barry and preparing to fire off his gun once again.

Len opened his mouth to yell, try to get Mick’s attention, but before he could, Barry snagged a heavy book off a shelf and slammed it hard into the side of Mick’s head.

Mick swore and let go of Barry’s collar, dropping to his knees and shaking his head with confusion. Barry dropped the book and flashed away, then stopped in the middle of the room. Len watched as Barry whirled his arms in a circle, turning them into a blur, but the action only fanned the flames higher. Smoke crawled chokingly across the ceiling.

Barry flashed a second time, and abruptly was standing in front of Len, holding up his hands. “Len! You’ve got to take the cuffs off! I can’t move fast enough to snuff the flames with them on.”

“Fat chance, Barry,” Len said, brushing him aside and stepping further into the room.

“Come on, Snart, this isn’t funny! You can trust me!”

It wasn’t just a matter of trust. It was also unnecessary. Len raised his cold gun and fired, playing the cold beam around the room anywhere the flames were. With Barry out of the way and Mick on the floor, he didn’t have to worry about accidentally striking someone he cared about, and in a moment, the fire was all snuffed out.

“Goddamnit, Mick,” Len snarled, stomping towards his friend, who was already getting to his feet. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Kid fucking hit me,” Mick growled, rubbing his head and glaring sidelong at Barry. 

“ _Yeah_ , and if he hadn’t, I would,” Len snapped. “Why were you firing your gun inside?”

“Mark Mardon attacked me,” Barry said. “Mick saved me, but uh…” He gestured around at the charred bookshelves. 

“Sorry, buddy,” Mick said diffidently. “Got a little carried away.”

Len sighed and looked around at the destruction. Most of the library was intact, and the flames hadn’t reached the theatre. He’d probably lost his damage deposit, but that was factored into the budget anyway. He had honestly expected something like this - or worse, anyway.

He looked at Mick, then Barry, and gestured to the latter, who walked towards him obediently, looking nervous. “What were you doing down here, anyway?” he demanded, catching Barry by the wrist and pulling him closer. Mick wandered into the theatre, and Len let him go, focused on his charge. He cocked his head, inspecting for any damage, but there was nothing obvious. 

“I was just exploring,” Barry said, shrugging.

“I never gave you permission to be out of my sight,” Len said, forming his expression into a scowl.

Barry’s eyes widened, startled. “You didn’t _say_ that I couldn’t—”

Len grabbed Barry by the back of the collar and shoved him downwards. Barry yelped and his knees hit the floor. “ _Don’t_ talk back to me, Flash!”

“Hey buddy?” Mick poked his head back into the room. “Where the fuck did he go?”

Len blinked and turned his head, his arm still rigid as he held Barry down at his feet. “What?”

“Mardon,” Mick rumbled. “He’s not in here. Where’d he go?”

Frowning, Len released Barry’s collar. “Stay,” he ordered, and strode into the next room. Mick was right. The room was empty, and there was only a single door, which upon investigation turned out to lead to an empty closet. Len looked around in confusion. “He was in here?”

“Yeah, I’m sure he ran in here when I tried to burn him,” Mick growled. 

Len walked back out of the theatre and regarded Barry, who was still kneeling on the floor, looking furious and betrayed. It was a look of Barry’s that Len was well-acquainted with, unfortunately. And to think, he had been going through that little theatre of punishing the Flash for exactly no one’s benefit, after all. 

Unless Mardon was actually somewhere around and watching them, which was still possible.

“Did you see Mardon go anywhere else?” he asked.

Barry looked up, then scowled down at the floor. “He just ran in there,” he said, gesturing towards the theatre room. “He couldn’t’ve come back out, or he’d have had to pass by us, and you.”

“That’s what I thought,” Len said, frowning. “Huh.” He thought for a few moments, then shrugged. “Well, who the hell knows? Maybe he has aspects to his powers we don’t know about and managed to turn into steam or something. If he slipped past us somehow and ran away, then good riddance. I don’t care if he comes back.”

He caught Barry by the collar again and tugged, and Barry scrambled resentfully to his feet. “Now, you and I have to have a serious talk about your behaviour.”

“ _My_ behaviour,” Barry demanded angrily. “What did I do?”

Len hauled on him, heading for the stairs. “You wandered off without permission, got yourself in trouble, _hit_ my partner,” he said, raising one, two, and then three fingers. Then he raised a fourth as they walked through the kitchen and back out into the great-room, with Mick following along behind. “And now you’re talking back to me again. Need I go on?”

Barry opened his mouth, body tensing, gearing up to argue, and Len gave him a sharp _shake_. “Don’t you _dare_ make it worse, Flash, or you’ll regret it,” he snarled. Everyone had turned their head to watch.

Barry froze, confusion and anger flickering over his cowled face. “What do you want me to say?”

Well, that was a good answer. Len leaned in close. “Say you’re sorry.”

“I’m _not_ sorry.”

That was _not_ a good answer. Len slapped him hard across the face, and Barry gasped, more surprised than hurt. Then, without another word, Len dragged him towards his bedroom.

Barry didn’t really struggle, though his reluctance reminded Len of the first night. He growled and grumbled the whole way up the hallway, though, seeming less frightened than angry this time. Len opened the door to his bedroom, hauled Barry inside and then slammed it with a satisfying bang.

Then he let go and leaned against the door.

Barry whirled around and backed away a few steps, his hands coming up defensively and his eyes fixed on Len.

Len folded his arms and settled himself more comfortably, smirking.

Silence.

“Now what?” Barry asked finally, his hands dropping down an inch or two. “What are you gonna do?”

“Nothing. You okay?”

Barry frowned. “Yeah, I’m fine. You’re… you’re not going to do anything to me?”

Len straightened up finally and walked towards him. “Do you _want_ me to punish you, Barry? Because I totally can if it’s throwing you off your game.”

“No, no,” Barry said hastily. “That’s fine, thanks.”

Len paused in front of him, then reached out and hooked his fingers under the cowl, pulling it off. Barry blinked at him with a cautious uncertainty, which slowly cleared into realization. 

“You were just saying all those things because you thought Mark might be listening, weren’t you,” the speedster said. “Or was it for Mick?”

“For Mardon,” Len confirmed. “I don’t need to pretend with Mick.”

Barry hesitated. “Where do you suppose he went?”

“Who gives a crap?” 

Barry chuckled, met Len’s eyes and then looked away suddenly, a flush creeping slowly up his cheeks. Len cocked his head with bemusement and lifted a hand again, cupping the back of Barry’s neck and rubbing a thumb across that reddened skin. So honest. It was like Barry was constantly walking around naked, in Len’s eyes, the way he let his emotions hang out there all the time. No one had ever once beaten Barry for crying, or blushing, or being sad or happy or angry at the wrong time in the wrong way, Len was sure.

That was what Len saw when he looked at Barry Allen. He wondered what Barry Allen really saw when he looked at Leonard Snart.

“I’d like to kiss you,” Len said softly.

Barry’s head came up, eyes widening in surprise. For a moment, Len thought he’d pull away, that Lisa had been wrong all along, but then Barry smiled like the sun breaking behind the clouds. “I’d like that, Len.”

How could anyone so sweet be real?

Len leaned forward, firming his grip on the back of Barry’s head. Their lips met.

God, Barry tasted like lightning. The kid wrapped his arms around him, pressing in close with enthusiasm, and gave one of those _all over_ shivers of delight or nervousness or _something_ ; a vibration that no human could possibly create with their body. 

Len slipped his arms around Barry’s waist in return and just held him like an anchor. Their tongues dueled. Len delved deep into Barry’s mouth and tasted every inch of him, their bodies pressed chest to chest and groin to groin, as they just stood together and the minutes drew out and they kissed forever like horny teenagers.

Hands running up and down Barry’s back and sides, Len lost himself in the kiss, and neither of them moved from that spot for a good, long time.


	16. So That's What It Feels Like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I told you there'd be smut.
> 
> Wait no. I mean smug. Len is very smug.
> 
> Also, there is smut in this chapter.

No one, _no one_ Barry had ever kissed, kissed like Leonard Snart.

His lips were chapped and he had a bit of scruff on his chin and cheeks that scraped against Barry’s skin as they pressed together. Len’s hands were sure and confident on his body. And he tasted like he smelled - peppermint, and probably that awful scotch he liked, but Barry didn’t care. Just the chance to finally _do_ this, when he’d been thinking about it for days, made Barry’s heart race and his body sing.

He knew, on some level, that this was the dumbest thing he’d ever done. Len had just slapped him in the face, and belittled him in front of his friends. Len was a criminal, a thief, a liar.

But _wow_ , could he ever kiss.

The storm whipped up into a frenzy, rattling the whole chalet with its gusts. Barry scarcely noticed.

Then the house shook again, a huge bang echoing through the house and a shattering of glass. Screams and yells erupted, and Len and Barry broke apart. Len started for the door, but Barry was faster, flashing away, opening the door and back in the main room in an instant.

One of the windows in the great-room was shattered, and now a massive tree branch hung through it. The branch had ripped away from the tree and driven right through the window, and snow and hail were pelting the Rogues as they scrambled to do something about it. Barry flashed forward again, zooming outside for a moment to inspect the damage from that angle, and then inside once more.

By then, the Rogues had noticed him. Barry ignored their shouts of dismay at his apparent freedom, and quickly picked up as much glass and broken branches as he could, then stopped beside Mick Rory and looked around at the rest of the Rogues. “Let’s all try and lift up the branch— urk.”

Mick had grabbed him by the back of the collar and lifted him up onto his toes. He looked around, just as Len raced in, significantly slower than Barry. “You lose something, Snart?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Len snarled. Barry’s eyes widened as Len stalked towards him. “What did I say?”

“Um,” Barry swallowed, voice strained. “Not to leave your side without permission?” he hazarded. _Shit. Shit. I fucked up. I really fucked up this time._ “But I was just trying to help! Honestly, I swear. I thought people were in trouble.”

“Snart, give it a rest for now,” Shawna Baez shouted over the wind. “It’s getting really _cold_ in here.”

Len gave him a furious look, then gestured to Mick. “Let him down. We’ll take care of this first.”

Barry sagged with relief. Mick dropped him, and he scooted immediately to Len’s side. “I’m sorry, I’m _really_ sorry, I didn’t think,” he said, which was all completely true.

Len cuffed him lightly on the back of the head. “Forgiven,” he said grudgingly, and then stalked towards the huge tree, glaring around the room. “What are you all standing around for? Let’s get this taken care of. Has anyone seen that piece of shit Mark Mardon?”

No one had. And everyone was quite sure who to blame for this.

They all gathered around the tree limb and heaved at it, while Lisa climbed up on top of a coffee table to supervise and yell out instructions. Several small branches broke off as they pushed it back out into the snow, and then Barry flashed around and picked those up, clearing away the detritus. The window was smashed to smithereens and the sill damaged, but the Rogues scoured the building for materials to patch the hole. Kyle located several sheets of plywood in the garage and they nailed them up over the damage. It wasn’t as insulating as double-paned glass, but Mick then stoked the fire, driving out the chill. 

The floor under the window was soaked with snow and melting ice. Everyone pulled the furniture that had escaped damage or wetting closer to the fire and settled in to argue and complain - mostly about Mark, who had vanished and seemed to be venting his anger on them for some reason.

“He wants to fight, I’ll give him a fight,” Mick growled, sitting on the flagstones in front of the fireplace and caressing his heat gun with almost pornographic affection. 

Len had settled himself the furthest from the fire. As soon as the branch had been removed, he had made a short production of chaining Barry’s arms and legs up again - an indignity Barry suffered without complaint, knowing that he had really made it necessary this time. Between hitting Mick and then flashing around without permission, Len needed to reestablish his appearance of control.

So Barry wound up on his knees straddling Len’s thigh for the second time since his arrival, but this time he was far happier about it. He wrapped his arms affectionately around the older man’s shoulders, letting his chained wrists dangle over the back of the sofa, and bent his head to rest his cheek against Len’s shoulder. 

Len was more overt as well. He ran his fingers up and down Barry’s back at first, then slipped a hand up under his shirt. Barry made a soft noise of delight, encouraging him, though it made him blush furiously to think of what the Rogues were probably seeing right then. Len’s blunt nails scratched down his spine, and his gun callouses scraped lightly over his skin. 

Lisa sat beside them. “Well,” she said. “I see you two have made up.”

“Yes, Lisa, I suppose we have,” Len said patiently. Barry nibbled on the side of his neck, and he drew in a sharp breath. 

Barry grinned, triumphant, and lifted his head, looking at Lisa. “Thank you.”

Lisa snorted delicately, and then smirked. “Then I’m sure I can count on similar help when I see Cisco again, hmm?”

Barry blinked. “Uh… you aren’t gonna kidnap Cisco, are you?”

She widened her eyes. “What a _great_ idea!” Then she laughed at what was undoubtedly a horrified look on Barry’s face, and patted his cheek, then rose to walk away. “Don’t worry. I have something else in mind.”

Barry looked at Len. “Please promise me you won’t let your sister kidnap Cisco.”

Len chuckled. “Stop worrying.”

“That wasn’t actually a promise.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

But Barry was pretty sure they were just making fun of him. Pretty sure. He settled back in and decided to enjoy himself - and, as Len had said, to stop worrying, at least for now.

Though the storm continued to rage at the walls, and more tree branches clattered down on the rooftop at intervals, there was no further excitement. Mick kept the fire going, and the anger and annoyance at Mark gave way to the stir-crazy Rogues finding ways to distract themselves. Soon music - not Christmas music this time - belted out and overwhelmed the sound of the storm. Shawna danced and sang along to some of the songs, pretending the television remote was a microphone, and then everyone trooped downstairs to the newly-discovered theatre space when Hartley revealed he had brought a drive filled with a terabyte of pirated movies.

There was popcorn, too, and more of Lisa’s cookies, and a lot of arguing about what to play. Len insisted on Frozen - no, [not the Disney movie](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1323045/) \- but when he told them what it was about, his choice was aggressively vetoed by literally everyone else. Finally they settled on the Ocean’s series, and Barry just spent most of the time giggling at how enthusiastically most of them utterly ignored the actual movies to debate how _they_ would have done it.

Barry was pretty sure Len’s plan would have been far more streamlined and required fewer people. Of course, Len had the advantages of super-powered minions, and a cold gun.

Barry had seen the movies, and Len was still insisting on him sitting in his lap, so he spent most of his evening facing the back wall - and doing his best to drive Len crazy. He nibbled at the nape of his neck, and vibrated, just a little, any time he thought Len wasn’t paying close attention. He could feel Len’s erection growing against his knee, and once Len actually gasped out loud when Barry bit his earlobe. 

Len made it through the whole first movie and half of the second before he cracked. 

Abruptly he caught Barry around the waist and stood up. Barry yelped and grabbed into him, steadying himself as his feet hit the floor. “I’m tired,” Len growled. “Going to bed. If anyone bothers me before morning, I’ll ice them.”

“Have fun, buddy,” Mick said. There was a general agreement with that sentiment, as Len dragged Barry bodily out of the room.

They got to the bottom of the stairs before Len made a noise of frustration and paused to unchain Barry’s hands and legs, much to Barry’s relief. After a couple days of freedom, getting locked up again had not been the best part of this whole evening.

Besides, it allowed him to do this. “Thanks, Len,” he said, and smiled cheekily, before picking Len up and flashing him back to their room. 

He set him down next to the sofa, slightly out of breath - Len was pretty solid, though not as big as some people - and Len swayed for a moment, eyes wide in surprise. “…Wow,” Len said, breathless. “So that’s what it feels like.”

“Yep—woah!” Len interrupted Barry’s smugness by picking him up in return, and tossing him bodily onto the bed.

Barry snickered and pulled off his cowl and shirt, but then Len was climbing on top of him, pressing him down with his weight and kissing him roughly. 

“You have.” Kiss. “Been driving me.” A bite to Barry’s lower lip. “Completely _insane_ , you little brat.”

Barry just grinned, and kissed him back, and ran his hands over Len’s back greedily. “Huh, really?” he said innocently. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“ _Brat_.”

Len undid Barry’s pants and pulled them off. Barry lifted his hips and wriggled to help, and sat up the moment Len dropped them on the floor, reaching for the hem of Len’s sweater. But Len caught him by the wrist, his eyes flicking up - cold, wary - and away. “No, not yet.”

“Len, honestly, it’s _okay_ —”

“I said _no_.”

Barry paused, then nodded. “Sorry. Of course, whatever you’re comfortable with.” Len’s grip on his wrist eased and Barry slipped his hand free, then wrapped his arms around him again, just holding this time until the tension drained out of the older man. They kissed again, more softly and with less urgency than before, Len’s arms going around and hands pressed to Barry’s bare skin.

Slowly, Len laid him back down onto the bed, then he withdrew and settled onto his side, head propped up on his hand and his other hand tracing patterns on Barry’s chest. Barry looked at him, fists clenching in the duvet cover, unsure if he had really pushed too far so quickly and ruined everything. His erection throbbed, laying heavy in the nest of soft curls at the join of his legs. He was suddenly extremely aware of the fact that he was completely naked, and Len was still completely clothed.

“Is everything…”

“Everything’s great,” Len murmured, his eyes raking over Barry’s form. “I want you to masturbate for me.” He brushed a finger over Barry’s nipple, which stiffened instantly to a peak. “I want to watch you do it. I want to hear you tell me what you’d like me to do to you.”

Barry felt himself blushing deeper with every word he said. “Are you sure that’s all you want? I could, you know, touch you, too.”

“That’s what I want right now,” Len said. He wasn’t really living up to his moniker at the moment - if anything, there was a fire in his eyes. A heat of desire. “You can touch me later, Barry, I promise.”

Barry wasn’t completely convinced, but so long as Len insisted he was okay, he supposed he had to believe him. He reached down and palmed himself, beginning to stroke. Len’s eyes followed the movement, and Barry had the distinct impression that he wasn’t just watching for the sake of watching. He was _learning_.

Of course he was. He was Leonard Snart.

Blushing even more deeply, Barry closed his eyes. He heard a shifting of fabric and opened them again, looking to see that Leonard had undone his own pants and was stroking himself as well. He swallowed, watching that long-fingered hand moving over the thick dick jutting from the ‘V’ formed by his open fly. 

“You’re too quiet,” Len murmured. “Talk to me, Barry. If you had your way, what would you want me to do?”

“I-I…” Oh god, he had to say it out loud? His eyes flicked upwards, and he saw a smirk curving Len’s lips. Yes, he was enjoying his discomfiture as much as the display. 

Barry swallowed, his hand starting to move a little faster over his cock. “I…I want to kiss you,” he said, wishing that didn’t sound so vanilla and cute. What would Captain Cold want him to do? He drew a breath, thinking frantically. “I want to taste, uh, every inch of you — your dick. I want it in my mouth.”

“ _Do_ you?” Len purred, obviously pleased.

Barry’s breathing was starting to shorten, as his hand moved faster, almost a blur in his nervousness. Len was still stroking himself more languidly. “You… you could chain me to the bed?” he offered, though the thought was slightly nervewracking. Len would like that, wouldn’t he? “I’d… Nnngh.” He slowed the pace of his hand. He was going to get off too quickly if he let himself. “I’d love it if you spanked me.”

“Would you, Barry? Do you want me to do that?” Len asked, a little sharpness edging into his tone. “Don’t lie.”

Barry blinked. “I… I’m not sure,” he confessed. 

“Then don’t say it,” Len said. He leaned over and kissed him, and there was something reassuring in that action. “I want to know what _you_ want.”

Barry smiled sheepishly. “I want to make you happy.”

Len snorted softly. His own hand was moving faster, and his breathing growing short and rapid. “That…now _that_ I believe.”

Barry closed his eyes, the heat in his body rising higher as he grew closer to his peak. He had lost the thread of what else he might want. “I-I, I want to feel you inside me, too,” he said, his voice also rising. 

Len shifted closer, his hand pumping rapidly, his breathing hot in Barry’s ear. “I want to fuck you,” Len growled into his ear. “I want to hear you scream my name. Do you want that, Barry?”

“Oh god,” Barry gasped, and squeezed his eyes shut, his dick twitching in his hand as his orgasm struck him hard. “Yes, Len.”

Len breathed out, a long, shuddering breath. Barry felt a few splashes of fluids added to the ones already spattered over his stomach and chest, as Len climaxed almost silently. Then they both lay quiet, breathing harshly, as they recovered.

“Gorgeous,” Len purred into his ear. 

A particularly strong gust of wind sent hailstones slamming into the glass door hard enough that Barry turned his head, startled. The blizzard was so powerful, the hail and snow driving almost sideways. He couldn’t see the fence at all, let alone the mountains beyond. 

But for an instant, he thought he saw a figure out in the snow, slender with dark hair whipping in the darkness. He stiffened, his eyes widening as he peered into the darkness, but the shadow was gone.

“Something wrong?” Len murmured, a thread of tension wending its way into his tone.

“No…” Barry turned away from the door. Maybe it was just a reflection. “I thought for a second I saw Mark outside.” _But it didn’t really **look** like Mark._ Then again, he really couldn’t be sure he saw anything at all.

Len grimaced and lifted his head, peering over Barry to look outside. “I don’t see anything.”

“It was probably nothing.” Barry groped for the tissues, which had been sitting next to the bed ever since Len had caught him masturbating the other morning, and couldn’t help but flush at the memory. “That…that was intense,” he admitted shyly.

“Yeah?” Len murmured smugly, settling back down and drawing Barry against him possessively. “Just wait for next time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe that Len loves B horror movies - the shittier the better. Anyone who disagrees can fight me.


	17. A Cold Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rogues figure out where Mark went. And, as one might expect, things get worse.

This was shaping up to be one of Len’s top five weeks ever. Maybe even top three. Interesting that two of his top three weeks involved the Flash.

Barry didn’t get tired. Len woke in the morning to find him all but wriggling against him with eagerness. They made out for a good ten minutes, and then Len jerked him off, getting to know the feeling of his body, the shape of his cock in his hand, the way when he touched him just _right_ , he would gasp and shiver and _blur_ for an instant in a way that told Len that those vibrations were really evidence that Barry had lost control. 

When he was done, he learned that Barry had practically no refractory period, and did it all over again. Barry’s eagerness to please continued to rear its head, but Len was still considering just how he wanted Barry to please him, when he finally gave in, and putting off that moment would only make it more gratifying when it came. So he sent the kid into the shower alone, while he took care of his own erection. 

Then he wondered if, just possibly, he was getting too old for this.

 _Nah_.

Breakfast arrived, and they ate, joking and chatting about nothing in particular. Barry’s smile was sunlight and warmth in a way that Len found he couldn’t get enough of, even though Len’s own smiles remained subdued and sardonic in comparison. It just wasn’t in him to giggle the way Barry did, as amused as he might be by the younger man’s cheer.

Mark Mardon was still raging against the house, though Len thought perhaps not as violently as the night before. There was hail, though, huge chunks of ice the size of tennis balls slamming into the ground and leaving holes in the snow.

He decided to leave the chains off of Barry’s legs and arms as they joined the rest of the group. They snuggled on the sofa as the rest of the Rogues woke and wandered out for coffee and breakfast, and _still_ Mardon hadn’t returned.

“Hey Len?” Barry spoke up abruptly once everyone else was up and about. “Do you think Mark’s okay?”

Len tilted his head, looking at Barry curiously. “What do you care— Never mind, stupid question.” He rolled his eyes. “Why do you _ask_?” he asked instead.

“Well… first the Tricksters disappeared, and now Mark,” Barry said. “And we still don’t know for sure how Axel got hurt.”

“The Tricksters didn’t disappear, they went home,” Len said, but he felt a qualm. No one had actually seen James Jesse and Axel Walker leaving. Their truck was gone, but that didn’t actually mean they had left the mountain. They could have been kidnapped, for all he knew.

Or they could be somewhere on the mountain, and Mark could have been kidnapped by them for some nefarious reason.

This was all a long shot, and he didn’t really believe that Mark or the Tricksters were in trouble. Even if they _were_ , he really didn’t care that much. But looking at Barry’s face, he realized that it wasn’t worth arguing with him. 

Heroes. Couldn’t live with them. Couldn’t stop wanting to kiss that adorable determined look off of their faces, apparently.

He sighed. “ _Fine_. We’ll go look for him again.” He got to his feet. “Hey Nimbus, Rathaway, Baez, you doing anything important?”

“No…” Nimbus murmured, getting to his feet. 

Hartley poked his head up, pulling his hood off and setting his coffee down, arching a brow in question.

Shawna poked her head in from the kitchen. “What do you need, Snart?”

“Gonna take a look around the house, try to figure out where Mardon went. Any of you want to come?” Len said. He could practically feel Barry brighten at his side.

Hartley waved uncaringly and dropped his head back down, pulling his hood back up and opening a book. Shawna and Kyle shrugged and followed as Len and Barry led them down to the basement. 

“We were _all_ down here until three am last night,” Shawna pointed out. “If Mark’s down here, then why wouldn’t we have found him then?”

“Yeah, but we weren’t looking for him last night,” Len said, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. “Let’s just…take another look. Mardon either got out of here without any of us seeing him - and as far as I _know_ this staircase is the only way out of the basement - or he’s still down here. And that storm tells me that he’s probably still alive, and pissed off. Do we really want to leave things like that?”

“No, we don’t,” Nimbus agreed laconically. 

Barry glanced at Len. “So…do we split up?” 

Len smiled faintly, putting a hand to the back of Barry’s head in approval that he’d thought to ask first. “We split up. But don’t go too far.”

“Yes, sir,” Barry replied, but couldn’t hide a mischievous smile. Len smirked in response and then turned away.

When had Len’s subjugation of the Flash turned into a fun little secret game they were playing?

The four - _three_ Rogues and one hero - split up. Shawna and Barry began poking around the bookshelves, searching for an odd hallway hidden behind boxes of books, or a doorway disguised by the shelves themselves. Kyle and Len headed into the theatre. Len poked behind the television, but it was mounted on the wall, and investigated the access hatch for the sound system. Kyle opened the closet and then froze.

“Hey Snart, there’s a draft here…”

“A draft?” Len asked, walking over to him. It was just a closet. “Are you sure?”

Barry appeared in the doorway, lighting crawling over his body. “Did you find something?” Shawna appeared in a puff of smoke next to him a moment later. 

Nimbus eyed Len, then suddenly green gas oozed from him. Len took a quick step back, holding his breath, but the gas drifted into the closet, and then fluttered and rippled. “A _draft_ ,” he confirmed, drawing the gas back into himself.

Len cocked his head and stepped into the closet. He felt along the wall, and found a small crack where the back wall met the side. He pushed, and a door swung open on invisible hinges.

The draft deepened to a cold wind. Beyond the door was nothing but blackness. Len reached into the darkness and felt around the wall, but couldn’t find a light switch. He drew back, touched the cold gun hanging on his thigh, and looked back at the other three, crowded around the entrance to the closet. “Anybody think to bring a flashlight?” There was a general shaking of heads. “Flash, there’s an emergency kit upstairs in the kitchen that should have one. Go get it, get Mick, and come back.”

Barry flashed a grin at him and nodded. “Yes, sir!” And he was gone in a flicker of lightning. Len scarcely had time to consider his next move before he was back, holding a flashlight, which he passed to Len. “Mick’s on his way.”

The thought of Barry trying to carry Mick bemused Len for a few moments, as he switched on the light and played it about the entrance. Beyond the doorway was a musty hallway. Len stepped into it, and spotted a hanging lightbulb a few feet down the hall. He pulled on the chain, and nothing happened.

Shawna, Kyle, and Barry followed him, fanned out across the hallway. The hall was devoid of decoration, and clearly ancient. The floor tiles were cracked and heaved in places, and in one section, a tree’s roots had split the concrete ceiling, the roots growing down the wall like vines and disappearing into the floor in search of dirt.

Mick caught up before they reached a heavy oak door at the other end of the hall. He held up his lighter to cast some extra illumination. “What the fuck is all this, boss?” he rumbled.

“No idea,” Len said. The door was thick and had huge iron hinges, but no lock. It was standing open a few inches and the cold breeze they had been feeling came whistling through the gap. He grabbed the handle and pulled. It opened silently, the hinges well oiled. 

Beyond, was another passage. This one was of naked, rough-hewn stone, like it had been carved straight out of the mountain. Rough cut beams of wood held up the ceiling at intervals. The flashlight’s beam failed long before it reached a junction, but Len could see the faint glow of light up ahead. 

Barry gave a low whistle. “What do you suppose this is?”

“It’s an escape route,” Len said, turning the beam this way and that, examining the walls. “To a mineshaft. Whoever built this place was either a criminal or rich, wanted a way to get out in a pinch. The mine’s abandoned - there’s probably miles of tunnels to hide in, maybe another route down off the mountain at the other end.”

Barry looked at him curiously. “So… Mark Mardon must be somewhere in the mine.”

Mick gave a low growl and started forward. “Let’s find him. I’m gettin’ tired of all this weather.”

Barry moved to follow, but Len put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “No, you’re not coming.”

He looked around, eyes widening with dismay. “W-what? Why not? I could—”

Len explained in a low, urgent tone. “Flash, there’s _miles_ of tunnels down there, and I don’t exactly know where the fence line is.” 

Barry’s eyes went even wider, and his hand came up, touching the little bomb on the side of his collar. Len had actually almost forgotten it was there, and apparently, so had Barry. “You could take it off?” he offered diffidently.

“Not a chance.”

He nodded, dropping his gaze. “What do you want me to do, then?”

Len itched to explore. He squeezed Barry’s shoulder. “Go find Lisa, hang around with her. I’ll be back in an hour whether we find Mardon or not. Deal?”

Barry nodded. “Deal,” he said grudgingly. 

“Good, now go.”

Barry walked off, not using his speed this time, and Len moved forward to join the rest of the group, heading deeper into the mine.

It didn’t take long before Mick found it. “Hey Snart,” he growled. He was standing in the middle of a four-way junction, slightly further ahead than the rest of the group. He bent to pick something up from the ground, and held it up. Len lifted the flashlight to illuminate the object.

It was a shoe. Mark Mardon’s shoe.

All four Rogues paused and looked at each other in consternation. “Why would he leave his shoe?” Shawna asked, voicing the question that had a trickle of ice running down Len’s spine. 

“He wouldn’t,” Len said. He thought for a moment, looking around. “Let’s split up, cover as much ground as we can. Be back here in _fifteen minutes_ , and we’ll confer. If you find any other sign of him, just mark it and we’ll come back together.”

They each chose a tunnel and moved off. Kyle faded into mist, able to cover more ground that way than walking, while Shawna teleported herself away, popping into existence again at each pool of light cast by the ancient electric lights on the walls. Len and Mick started off at right angles to one another, moving in a more mundane fashion.

Len walked at a steady pace for seven and a half minutes, playing his flashlight down any junctions he came to, and choosing the left branch each time it forked. Then he turned around and walked back, arriving at the original junction right on the dot after fifteen minutes had passed. 

A few seconds later, Shawna popped into existence next to him. He looked a question at her, but she shook her head. A minute later, Mick came lumbering up the hall towards them, his lighter still held up in front of him. “Didn’t see nothin’,” he said, gazing hypnotized at the flame. Well, he was no help.

They waited.

After a few minutes, Shawna raised her voice, shouting Kyle’s name.

“He’s not coming back,” Len growled, putting out a hand to silence her. He looked down the hall where Nimbus had gone. He was a goddamn living cloud of gas - what trouble could he have gotten into? He considered the thought of going after him, but whatever Nimbus had encountered, it had to be bad. 

“Let’s go back to the house and make a plan,” he said. “Nimbus and Mardon are going to have to cool their heels for a little bit.” He didn’t like the idea of abandoning them, but something was coming after his people in the dark and he had _no_ idea what it was. They needed to devise a strategy, not go stumbling around half-cocked in the maze - that was what had gotten Nimbus in trouble in the first place. 

Besides, the hour he’d given Barry was nearly up, and he didn’t want him doing anything stupid.

“Let’s go,” he said, and turned resolutely back towards the house, grinding his teeth with a burning anger. Mick and Shawna followed close behind. 

Whatever was going on, he was going to get to the bottom of it.


	18. It's a Christmas Miracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rogues find Kyle. It's...not good.

For once, Barry didn’t really rush to get anywhere after he was dismissed back to the house. He walked back through the charred library and up the stairs. With Mark and the Tricksters gone, and Kyle, Mick, and Shawna with Len in the mines, the house was pretty empty. Hartley was reading and looking oblivious, so Barry let him be and instead wound up joining Lisa in the kitchen, who beamed at him when she saw him.

“Oooh, look, a puppy,” she said. “Did you get lost?”

“I’m being good,” Barry said, waving his hands. “Len told me to come back here without him.”

“Lenny said that?” Lisa pulled out a loaf of bread and a knife and set it down in front of Barry. “Is everything okay? He doesn’t usually let you out of his sight unless something’s wrong.”

Barry flushed faintly. “Yeah, everything’s fine. We figured out that Mark might have gone through a secret door in the basement that lets out into the mine. Len wanted to go look for him, but I couldn’t come because, uh.” He tapped the bomb on his neck, and Lisa’s eyes widened with understanding.

“Well then, you’d better make yourself useful in fixing lunch.”

Barry picked up the knife and sliced the entire loaf in a matter of seconds. “Glad to.”

Lisa paused, then placed more ingredients in front of him to cut up. She selected a tomato and sliced it into rounds while he prepared pretty much everything else in the time it took her to finish one. 

“I should get you to help me with every meal. So… Lenny _did_ look pretty happy this morning,” she said. Barry blushed to the roots of his hair, and even though he was wearing his cowl Lisa definitely saw enough to make her grin. “Oh my, you _did_ make him happy last night, didn’t you?”

“I-I don’t want to get into it, Lisa, I—”

“Good,” she laughed. “Last thing I need to know is the details of my brother’s sex life.” She smiled at him, those Snart blue eyes soft with affection. “But I’m glad.”

Barry grinned shyly. “He’s really…not that bad, after all.” Honestly, he didn’t know what made him say it. When he thought about it logically, Len hadn’t exactly been sweet or loving, and Barry wasn’t sure if all this was purely physical gratification or if there was something more. He _had_ to assume that Len was just interested in him sexually, yet he hadn’t even let Barry touch him - focusing purely on Barry’s own sexual pleasure. It was all sort of confusing, but not in a distressing way. Just in a ‘huh’ sort of way that told Barry what he already knew - that he really didn’t understand Len at all.

“Hey,” he said. “Do you know anything about Stockholm Syndrome?” 

Lisa laughed. Barry wasn’t entirely sure he was joking.

They made sandwiches, with bacon and tomato and thick cut French bread that smelled amazing. Barry ate two of them, and then everyone else came back from the mines.

Everyone but Kyle Nimbus.

Len took a plate of the sandwiches out to the great-room and Barry cuddled up next to him in what had become their usual spot. “You think Kyle Nimbus and Mark Mardon are together somewhere?” he asked.

“That seems likely,” Len growled, squeezing his sandwich down flatter before he ate it. “Question is, did Mardon do something to Nimbus? Or did someone do something to both of them?”

“Considering Mark lost a shoe and didn’t go back for it…” Barry said, worry curling in his stomach. “And also, someone trashed this place, but we know it wasn’t either of them.”

“Right.”

Len stared into the middle distance, a half-eaten sandwich, which he seemed to have forgotten he was holding, clutched in his thin fingers. Barry fell silent, snagging another sandwich and munching on it distractedly. Something seemed weird - not with Len, that was the same as ever, though he was being a bit intense right now as he thought - but something else. 

Then it hit him. He hadn’t heard hail on the roof in a while.

He looked up. One big window was covered in plywood, but there were several others. He actually could see _sunlight_. “Hey, the sun came out.”

Len jerked as if Barry had startled him, then glanced around distractedly. He looked down at Barry. “It’s a Christmas miracle,” he said, his voice steeped in sarcasm, yet there was something affectionate about the look on his face.

Then he smelled it. Barry looked around again, wrinkling his nose at an acrid scent that was strangely familiar. He felt Len tense next to him, and in the next moment they were both jumping to their feet as a green cloud of vapor came pouring into the room from the fireplace.

“Nimbus!” Len snarled. “Where’ve you been?”

Instead of answering, Kyle spread slowly across the ceiling. 

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Barry shouted. “Right now!”

He grabbed Len by the hand and they ran for the front door, aware of the rest of the Rogues crowding in behind him. They had only seconds before the poison gas would reach them, though Kyle seemed unsure of where to go, sending out feelers and sinking down towards the floor to as if to stalk them.

Barry turned the knob and pushed.

It didn’t budge. 

“Locked?” Len exclaimed. He grabbed the knob, but once again it turned easily. Len put his shoulder to the door, to similar effect. Together they threw themselves against the door, again and again, with all their might. 

Hartley looked around, panting with fear, and groped for a nearby candlestick. “I…I can break a window.”

“Won’t be enough,” Barry gasped. It wasn’t a question of fresh air, not entirely. Nimbus could go into their lungs and choke the life from them intentionally, no matter how much air there was to breathe. Maybe one or two of them could climb out a window before Nimbus got them, but the rest would still suffocate, if the poison didn’t get them first. The kitchen was hidden in a haze of green.

Barry drew a breath, and plunged into the poison, eyes squeezed nearly shut and breath held. He nearly reached the kitchen, turned, and then flashed forward. This time when he hit the door it finally gave, opening a few inches. The amount of snow piled against the door made it nearly impossible to shift, but Barry gathered himself again and shoved with all his might. 

Suddenly Mick was there beside him, and Len was pushing again, too. Mick shoved his heat gun through the gap and fired, and half of the snow melted away instantly into steam. The door popped open abruptly and the three of them spilled out into the snow. They all went stumbling away from the house, followed by the rest of the Rogues. 

Barry let out his breath like an explosion. He knew he had risked a lot by going into the cloud at all, even with his healing. He didn’t have an antidote this time. But Kyle was still in the house. They couldn’t just stay out here in the cold. 

Len was on one knee in the snow, facing the door, his face a mask of cold rage and his hand gripping the handle of his cold gun like he was considering just pulling it and shooting. But of course, there was nothing to shoot at. It was unlikely that the Mist could be killed by Len’s gun. 

Barry dropped to his knees in front of him. “Len,” he said, hearing the rawness of his own voice, ravaged by Kyle Nimbus’ poison. But he could breathe. He wasn’t dying. “Please take off my cuffs.” He held out his wrists. “Please. I need you to do this, just this once.”

Snart hesitated, but for once he neither refused nor questioned his request. He produced the keys and finally the cuffs on Barry’s wrists fell away.

He immediately felt a surge in the speedforce. It was far from back to full capacity, but he felt a lightness and a _freedom_ he hadn’t realized was lost. He lunged forward and kissed Len on the lips, lingering for just a fraction of a second - which felt like a sinfully long time to him.

Then he flashed back into the house.

He began to swing his arms around in a circle even as he ran inside, pushing the air ahead of him. His arms whirled and whirled, gathering all of the air and poison into a funnel cloud in front of him. “You feel that, Kyle Nimbus?” Barry shouted. “I’m not gonna let you get away with this!”

Surely he had made his point. He stopped the movement abruptly, and as he had hoped, the cloud of mist was gathered tightly into a knot. But instead of coalescing into a human form, the cloud sailed away, spinning and whirling dizzily. Barry followed, expecting Kyle to reform any moment, but instead the gas cloud sailed into the kitchen and down into the basement.

“Oh no you don’t,” Barry snarled, giving chase. He tried again to contain the mist cloud in the library, but as soon as he began to disturb the air, books came flying off of the shelves, and he had to stop. By then, Nimbus had escaped into the theatre, and when Barry sped in there, it was only to see him vanishing into the closet with the secret door.

And from there, Barry knew, he would escape back into the mine, where Barry couldn’t follow. 

He cursed and slammed a fist into the wall, glaring at the closet door where the Mist had vanished. Why would he do this? It didn’t make any sense!

Had Nimbus been the culprit all along? He had attacked Axel.

But Snart had been sure he hadn’t had the time to hurt Axel and cover it up before Len got there. He definitely hadn’t had an opportunity to trash the chalet _and_ move Axel to the woodpile outside the kitchen. But if it wasn’t Nimbus, and it wasn’t Mardon, then who was it? And why would Nimbus help someone who kidnapped him?

“What the hell is going on here?” Barry muttered. There was nothing for it but to head back upstairs and make sure the other Rogues were okay.


	19. Keep Your Shirt On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doesn't everyone love a blanket scenario?

The Flash had saved all their lives. 

Even the other Rogues were very much aware of it, as they confirmed that none of them had been poisoned - and that none of them were dressed for the weather. The sun sparkled on a couple of feet of fresh-fallen, virgin snow, but it was _viciously_ cold outside. Even Len was shivering by the time Barry emerged from the house in a blur and stopped in front of him. The winter air cut through the sweater he was wearing as if it wasn’t even there.

“Kyle ran - well, _flowed_ , I guess - away, back into the mines. I’ve got no idea why he attacked us! I didn’t catch him, but at least he’s gone. Hopefully I discouraged him from coming back.” Even as he reported in, Barry caught Len by the shoulders and actually _hugged_ him. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, more softly.

Len patted him awkwardly on the back. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the hug - there was nothing quite so pleasurable as Barry’s warmth and the lithe body that fit so perfectly together with his own. But he wasn’t _used_ to hugging, and he wasn’t quite sure what was expected in return.

He suspected he hadn’t quite managed it right, looking at Barry’s gentle smile directed just at him before the Flash pulled away and addressed the others. “Is everyone alright? No one breathed any in, did they?” But as everyone was picking themselves back up and shivering in the snow, it seemed that Barry had managed to get them all outside in time. 

“Can we go back in now?” Mick snarled, stomping his feet and holding his heat gun against his chest as if it actually did radiate heat even when it wasn’t being fired. Len knew it didn’t. Cisco had insulated it well when he built this version for Mick.

Len cocked his head at Barry, raising a questioning brow. “Can we?”

Barry nodded. “Yeah, it should be safe. Unless he does come back after all, but if we clear the snow away from the doors we shouldn’t get trapped again.”

They trooped up to the front door, and Mick took a moment to fire the heat gun again. A river of warm water flowed down the steps, and clouds of steam billowed upwards where the flame touched the snow drifts. Though the steps would probably be icy as hell by tomorrow, at least the door could open freely.

They could definitely escape if they needed to. Assuming they weren’t attacked in their sleep.

Len stepped inside and looked around. The front room looked like a tornado had hit it. That was probably because one had.

“Let’s get this place cleaned up,” he growled. Wearily, the other Rogues moved to obey, picking up fallen objects and tidying up papers that had gotten flung around in all the excitement. Len bent to gather up and dispose of the sad remains of Lisa’s sandwiches.

Nimbus didn’t come back, and for the moment Mardon held off on venting his fury on them once again. Either they were planning an even more deadly attack, or their captors were. Len’s mind raced, unable to put it aside. How did the pieces fit together? What conclusion explained everything? If Mardon and Nimbus were captured, why would they exert their powers on the other Rogues? Neither of them had anyone they loved left to threaten, no way to force their compliance other than pure torture, but Nimbus hadn’t been taken long enough to break, which meant that their captor must have offered him something he wanted. But what?

It was maddening. Even the gentle touch of Barry’s hands and the pressure of the younger man’s head against his shoulder wasn’t enough to pull him out of his distracted funk. 

Eventually, Barry wandered away to play chess with Hartley again, though he stayed close. Len vaguely noticed that much, that Barry kept looking at him, remained in his orbit, unlike the previous day when they had stayed far away from one another.

Though the remaining Rogues returned to their usual routines of chatting, game playing, and reading, there was a palpable tension in the air that wasn’t just coming off of Len. Mick cleaned his heat gun at least three times and spent most of the afternoon fiddling with the fire, rearranging the wood and adding fuel until it was a roaring monstrosity barely contained within the fireplace. 

The sun began to set, turning the mountains a deep, blood red colour, streaked with orange and purple. Len wandered to the window in the kitchen, not watching the sun, but considering the window itself. Someone had opened this window. Someone had come inside. Someone had taken Mardon, taken Nimbus. Someone had hit Axel from behind and nearly killed him, but hadn’t finished the job. Someone may have taken the Tricksters and stolen their truck.

There was someone on the mountain with them, and that person really, really hated them. Their attacks were escalating, each time they came.

The mountain was also their territory, and Len had only the smallest amount of information about the lay of the land itself. He had researched the place, but had never considered the possibility that they would be attacked by a mysterious and powerful enemy on their holiday. This might be a world where people could run faster than sound and turn into living mist and shoot lasers from their eyes, but most threats were mundane. You might get attacked if you went to the wrong part of the world and looked the wrong way, but there were no drug cartels here in the mountains on an abandoned ski resort, no terrorists likely lurking in a shut down mine in middle America. 

He hadn’t _anticipated_ this. He hadn’t _prepared_ for it.

That galled him most of all.

Going after the threat in their own lair was suicide. The mines were a maze, full of natural dangers and also easily booby-trapped. Remaining in the open, above the ground, was safer. But if the enemy could move freely under their feet, how would they ever find them without delving into that labyrinth? 

Barry appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. “Hey, Len?”

He turned, regarding his charge thoughtfully. Barry looked uncertain, his brows drawn together under the cowl. “You all right, Flash?”

Barry relaxed minutely, and he smiled hopefully. “Yeah, I’m fine. I was wondering if you wanted to go to bed. The party’s breaking up.”

Len hesitated, turned back towards the window for a moment, then turned back to Barry. “No, I can’t sleep in this house tonight.” He walked towards Barry, put an arm around the younger man’s shoulders and drew him along with him. “Come on. We need coats, flashlights, and some other things.”

“Huh? Where are we going?”

Len didn’t answer. Everyone else had already gone back to their rooms, so they saw no one as they moved through the house. He grabbed his parka, checked the charge on his cold gun, and put on his heavy boots. He looted Nimbus’ closet and gave the long, heavy coat he found to Barry, who put it on without complaint. He took the survival kit from the kitchen, and the flashlight Barry had found. In a hall closet, he found extra blankets and another flashlight. From the kitchen he took a handful of granola bars and stuffed them in his pocket for Barry. They probably wouldn’t be gone that long, but just in case, he wanted to be prepared. Everything went into the duffel bag he’d brought all of his things in for the week, and he slung that over his shoulder.

The last thing he did before leaving was make sure the door to the mine was closed and barricaded with chairs. It wouldn’t stop Kyle from getting in that way, but it would hopefully stop a human-shaped person.

Then they slipped out of the house and trekked across the snow towards the stand of trees where he had chased Kyle a few days before. 

Barry was vibrating again. Len imagined he wasn’t used to just following along without knowing what the plan was, but he had done an admirable job of keeping quiet as they stole through the house getting supplies. Now, though, he was starting to reach the end of his tether.

“ _Snart_ , what are we doing? We can’t just leave them all there.”

“We’re not, _Barry_ ,” Len hissed. “You think I’d abandon Lisa and Mick?”

Barry flushed in chagrin. “Uh, well no.”

“Keep your shirt on,” Len murmured, then glanced back at Barry with a smirk. “For _now_.”

Barry blushed. “You aren’t taking us for a romantic getaway from your romantic getaway, are you?”

“What if I were? Now hush.”

They stepped into the trees, and Len kept walking. There was an outbuilding he had seen, close to the fence line. It had probably once been servants’ quarters, he figured, though it might just be an old barn. Hopefully, it was insulated.

They reached the front door. It was boxy, two stories, with a peaked roof. The place looked somewhat tired, in need of paint and some new shingles, but sturdy. Len tried to open the door and found it locked.

He shoved the duffel into Barry’s hands. “Hold this.” Then he pulled his travel lock pick set out of his pocket and bent. “Shine a light for me, will you?” he added, squinting in the darkness. The moon was half full and it was far from adequate.

Barry fumbled for his flashlight and turned it on, shining it on the lock. “Do you bring lock picks wherever you go? Even on vacation?” he asked with an exasperated tone.

“Everyone should bring lock picks with them wherever they go,” Len said archly. “What do you do when you encounter a lock and don’t have your picks?”

“I usually figure I probably shouldn’t go in that place!”

“And that’s the essential difference between you and me, Barry.”

Barry paused, and chuckled. “Well, you’re right about that.”

The lock clicked and Snart opened the door. The hinges creaked. Thankfully, the trees had screened the building from a lot of the blizzard, so they didn’t have to dig through snowdrifts to get inside.

It did look like it had once been a little cottage - it had appliances in one corner that looked like they had been installed during the Depression - and clearly hadn’t been in use for decades. The majority of the main floor was taken up with the detritus and castoffs of a working ski lodge, such as spare broken chairs, and a collapsed sofa covered in a tarp. A forest of ancient skis and snowshoes leaned against one wall.

It was as cold inside as if they were standing in an industrial refrigerator.

Snart picked his way through the broken furniture and headed up the stairs, stepping carefully and testing each step before he put his full weight on it. The upstairs was more of a loft than a real floor. The ceiling met in a ‘V’ and Len could only stand up straight in the very middle. There was a single circular window at each end, and Len walked over to the one facing the way they had come.

From here, he had an unobstructed view of the chalet through the trees.

He took the duffel bag from Barry and opened it up, laid a blanket on the floor and sat on it. “Make yourself comfortable, Barry.”

Barry looked around doubtfully, removed his cowl, and sat beside him. When he looked out the window, he seemed to understand. “We’re…keeping watch?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, _okay_.” Barry threw his hands in the air. “That’s a great idea. Why didn’t you just tell me? Or tell the others that was what we were doing?”

“Because.” Len shot him a look. “I don’t know who was listening.”

Barry’s mouth opened in an ‘O’, then he closed it. “You think Mark or Kyle was listening to us? Or that one of the other Rogues is a traitor?”

“At this point,” Len said, pulling a second blanket out of the dufflebag and arranging it over them. “I simply can’t rule anything out.”

“…That’s true, I guess.”

They rolled more blankets up to recline against and settled in to begin their vigil.


	20. Don't Let Me Stop You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blanket scenario part two!

It was really, really cold in that old abandoned cottage, though Barry did his best not to complain about it or think about it too much. Len was obviously tense and upset about what had happened with Kyle earlier that day, and Barry couldn’t blame him - they all were. But somehow he got the impression that it was hitting Len harder than anyone. As if he blamed himself somehow for things going wrong.

Also, he could see the logic of spending the night out here like this. If they were all sleeping in the house and Kyle decided to attack them again, they would all be dead by morning. From here, they could see anyone approaching the house, whether they were one of the Rogues or some as-yet-unknown assailant. Also, even if Kyle attacked a second time via the chimney, he and Len would see it in time for Barry to be able to run in and stop him. 

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much they could do about an attack from below. Maybe that was why Len still seemed so tense.

Still, the cold sucked. 

Their breath steamed in the air, and Barry snuggled up as close as he could get. The two of them were situated so that they would only have to look in the direction of the window to see the chalet, so they could be under the blankets and still maintain a reasonable watch. Len settled onto his back with his arm around Barry’s shoulder, their legs tangled together under the blankets and the additional covering of their parkas piled on top. Barry’s ears were a little cold, but with the two of them cuddling so close he wasn’t very uncomfortable.

The hours ticked by, and Barry began to yawn at intervals. He ate a granola bar, then ate another one. Len remained where he was, stroking Barry’s back and watching the house. 

As they waited, another need began to present itself. Barry couldn’t stop thinking about what they had done the previous night. Len hadn’t even touched him, yet it had been the single hottest experience of his life. And then that morning, Len had touched him so intimately, his cool fingers so sure and confident on his dick, Barry wasn’t sure he could go back to his usual masturbation regime.

And now, here they were. They were all snuggled in so close together, Barry’s groin pressed against Len’s hip, and it was honestly becoming a very real struggle to avoid getting an erection. He hadn’t touched himself all day, and it seemed ridiculous that he was thinking about sex at a time like this, but there it was. 

“You could get some sleep,” Len murmured, brushing his fingers down the back of Barry’s neck. Barry shivered, and this time it wasn’t from the cold.

“No! I’m not just sleeping while you stay awake,” Barry argued, rolling his eyes. “We’re both watching.”

“We both don’t _need_ to watch,” Len pointed out.

“We could at least take shifts, then,” Barry suggested. “I’ll sleep for a bit, and then you wake me up.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I want to help you, Len,” Barry exclaimed, and Len rolled his eyes, gesturing in surrender with his free hand. 

“Calm down. I was just making a suggestion, since you seem sleepy.” Len didn’t seem sleepy at all, and Barry wondered just how determined he was. There was no way they’d be able to get off the mountain until the snow had melted somewhat or been cleared away. If Len was planning on keeping watch every night while the others slept, how many days was he going to have to keep this up? Then again, maybe the real reason why Len didn’t want Barry helping was because he couldn’t sleep anyway.

Maybe if he relaxed him a little, he would get some rest. Barry could definitely watch for a while, and they could trade off, if Len was willing. That was a much better way to do this.

But how to get him to relax? Barry chewed the inside of his cheek as he thought. He could think of a few possible ways, and his body woke up and expressed interest in them, but Len hadn’t wanted Barry to touch him last night _or_ this morning.

“Hey…Len?” he spoke up tentatively.

“Yes, Barry?”

“Do you think you’ll ever…want me to touch you, too?”

Len blinked. Barry could imagine that the change of subject had been a surprise, at the very least. “Trust me, Barry, I want you to touch me a whole hell of a lot.”

Barry frowned. “Then why won’t you let me?”

Len chuckled slightly and scraped his fingernails maddeningly down the back of Barry’s neck again. “You realize it’s only been two sessions, right?”

“I know, but— well, usually people do want something for themselves, even at the very first session,” Barry said, lifting his head to look at Len’s expression. The mobster was smirking, which was no real help in divining what he was thinking. “I would’ve thought—”

“That I’d be a selfish prick in bed?”

“I— no! That’s not it. You don’t have to be a selfish prick to want me to reciprocate,” Barry stammered. “And I don’t want to be a selfish prick, either!”

Len laughed softly and bent his head, pressing his lips to Barry’s in a surprisingly gentle, warm kiss. Barry responded eagerly, but glared at him the moment Len settled back again, trying to convey that Len hadn’t successfully distracted him with the kiss, sweet as it had been.

“Barry, don’t worry,” Len said in a deep, warm purr. “There’s literally nothing I’d like more than for you to reciprocate. I’ve just been…patient. I want to make sure you’re enjoying yourself. I also know that when you do do it, it’s going to be amazing. I don’t want to waste it.”

Barry blinked at him, utterly baffled. “I _am_ enjoying myself! And, and what do you mean ‘waste’? You think there’s going to be just one time and then it’s going to be over?”

Len raised a brow at him, and Barry stared for a moment, the bottom dropping out of his stomach. “I-I mean…well, yes. I mean, things might be different once we leave here,” he said, dropping his gaze. Of course this would be over once he went home. Barry couldn’t believe that that hadn’t even occurred to him before.

He looked up. “But it’s only the twenty-eighth of December. We’ve got four whole nights before New Year’s Day. And I want to give you a blow job.”

Len smirked, like the cat who caught the canary. “Right now?” Barry felt himself blush right to the roots of his hair in the wake of what he’d just said, particularly when he saw Len’s reaction, but he nodded with determination.

“Right now.”

Captain Cold’s smirk only widened, and he propped himself on his elbows, the picture of indolent contentment, despite the many blankets covering him and the fact that he kept his eyes trained on the window. “Well Flash,” he purred. “Don’t let me stop you, then.”

Another day, Barry might have wondered if Len had somehow manipulated him into this, but right now he didn’t care even if he had. He knew what he wanted, and that was to suck Leonard Snart’s cock, and there was nothing wrong with that. He squirmed under the blankets and undid Len’s fly.

The older man lifted his hips as Barry tugged, pulling the jeans down until they were around Len’s booted ankles. It was dark and close under the blankets, but that was a relief given the cold air outside. He settled himself between Len’s knees, elbows pushing Len’s thighs apart slightly.

It was dark, which was a shame. Barry would just have to explore by touch alone. 

He slid his hand up Len’s thigh, feeling the soft hairs on his leg under his palm. When he reached the join of his legs, his fingers danced sideways, until he brushed against the shaft of Len’s cock. 

He was already fully erect. Had Len been thinking about this, too? Or had Barry’s offer been that desirable to him?

Either way, it gave Barry a thrill to feel the hot, smooth shaft under his fingers. 

He palmed him and stroked a few times, getting used to the feeling of it in his hand. He heard Len give a soft sigh of contentment, and felt him shift slightly, impatient or just getting comfortable, Barry couldn’t quite tell.

Well, if he was impatient, he wasn’t going to have to wait much longer. 

Barry scooted forward and opened his mouth, taking the head of Len’s cock between his lips. He swirled his tongue around the head, tasting the musky flavour of him, the soft, velvety texture. Len made another soft noise, almost inaudible. Approving.

This was the first time since getting his powers that Barry had actually gotten to third base. He had never been able to forget that when he was making out with Linda he had gotten so worked up that he’d essentially needed to escape to protect his secret. Since then, he’d gotten more control over his abilities, but Len had proved this week that when he got worked up and nervous, he would still blur a bit.

And he’d also proved that he rather liked it when Barry did that.

So what if he…?

Barry experimentally channeled the speedforce into his tongue, making it vibrate. Len jumped, a yell on his lips - quickly cut off, much to Barry’s disappointment. 

As Barry continued to vibrate, taking more and more of Len’s cock into his mouth, the older man made a strangled noise in his throat, and pressed his hand to the back of Barry’s head, not pushing, but holding. His fingers bunched in the blankets, catching a few of Barry’s hairs in the process, and Len shuddered under him. 

“Jesus… _Barry_ ,” Len growled, his voice hoarse and strained. “Don’t stop.”

Barry bobbed his head up and down, his tongue vibrating against his teeth and the shaft of Len’s cock, loving every minute of this.

He had only given blow jobs a few times before, and as Barry continued to work, pushing the rhythm a little faster as he grew more comfortable, he worried that his jaw was going to start to ache, that he might not be able to finish. 

He shouldn’t have worried. After a shorter time than he would have expected, Len grunted softly, his fingers tightening once again. “Barry, fuck—” he gasped. That was the only warning Barry had before Len’s cock pulsed in his mouth, fluids flooding over his tongue and into his mouth. Barry drew back and swallowed, allowing the vibration to ease and stop. 

Len was still panting audibly when Barry crawled out from under the blankets, wiping the moisture from his chin. Barry couldn’t help but feel pretty damn smug as he cuddled up against Len again, pillowing his head on his shoulder and tangling their legs together once again.

“You are definitely worth a million dollars,” Len said finally, his voice even and bearing only a trace of a tremor from the intensity of his orgasm.

“Thanks,” Barry said. He suspected his grin could probably light up a whole room.

Len sat up abruptly, arms wrapping around Barry and dumping him onto his back. “Now,” he growled, his eyes like chips of ice. “My turn. Keep an eye out.”

Len disappeared under the blankets, and over the next several minutes, Barry learned that Captain Cold was at least as good at giving blow jobs as he was at kissing. And Barry was a lot less quiet about receiving them than he was, too.


	21. Are They Gonna Be Okay?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a power outage at Chez Rogues. It's not as fun as you might think.

Len hadn’t thought he’d sleep a wink - hadn’t _intended_ to sleep - but Barry’s delightful offer had relaxed him more than he’d expected, and he hadn’t been successful in wearing the kid out before, apparently, he had gotten worn out himself. So as the rising sun began to paint the sky in tones of yellow and pink, he found himself waking wrapped in blankets and cuddled against the chest of a very awake Barry Allen, who had kept watch the remainder of the night.

Len couldn’t believe Barry had managed to distract and manipulate him so thoroughly, when Len had had every intention of doing that to _him_.

Jerk.

He couldn’t be mad, though. Not when Barry beamed at him so sweetly and greeted him with a kiss.

“Good morning. I didn’t see any sign of trouble last night,” Barry said. His stomach growled audibly, like a hungry lion, and the smile faltered, replaced by a look of chagrin. “I don’t suppose we can go in and have breakfast, now?”

The relief Len hoped to feel at the news that another disaster hadn’t struck overnight didn’t come. He was too frustrated that he had gone to all the trouble of sneaking out and they had learned nothing. He nodded and tugged his jeans back up to cover himself before getting up - more because he didn’t much want to expose his junk to the cold air than out of modesty this time. Captain Cold might like the chill, but there were limits.

Barry dressed again and packed everything up in a whirlwind of lightning. He really was so useful to have around. Even with the cuffs on his ankles and the collar still on, he was fast enough to complete simple tasks in seconds. It was really too bad that Barry was so resistant to the idea of being a crook - if only he could get the kid to join his Rogues, they’d be unstoppable. Good lord, the things they could _steal_!

Following that line of thinking, Len realized only now that he’d never put the cuffs back on Barry’s wrists. They were still in his pocket, in fact, but it just didn’t seem worth it to put them back on. If Nimbus showed up again, it was best to be prepared, and for that they really did need the Flash to have his arms free. Surely after yesterday’s performance, no one could fault Len for that or think he was being soft for the decision.

Not that he was being soft. He was being _practical_.

Then Barry’s hand slipped into his as they walked across the grounds, and Len wondered just how exactly he was going to let all this go in four days.

Three nights left. 

It wasn’t going to be enough.

He had never been in a relationship - his mind wanted to tack on the word ‘before’, but really, this wasn’t a relationship, was it? They had blown each other. It couldn’t be a _relationship_ relationship, whatever Barry might be thinking right now.

In the past, when Len felt the urge, he’d hit a bar and pick up some likely girl or guy, or find an escort for the evening and pay for the services he was looking for. There was nothing wrong with any of that, but even the most generous definition of an actual relationship was a completely unknown world. What was he supposed to do, give Barry flowers? Take him to dinner and a movie? Invite him home to meet the folks? His mother was dead and his father in Iron Heights. Go home to meet Barry’s family? That’d just land Len in prison with both of their fathers, likely with a broken jaw delivered by an over-protective Joe West.

Len might be enjoying himself right now, but when it came to the realities of this whole thing, it was sex between two people with completely incompatible lives. It wasn’t _love_. Len didn’t even know what that might feel like.

But Barry’s hand was warm, and his smile made something weird flutter in Len’s stomach whenever he looked at it. And he suspected that probably meant he was in deep, deep trouble.

When they entered the house, it was to hear the sudden charging whine of Lisa’s gold gun. She was on a sofa in the main room, reclining, yet the gun’s muzzle was pointed unerringly straight at their heads. She paused and then lowered it again, her eyes flicking from Len to Barry and back. She wasn’t wearing makeup and her hair was a little mussed. “Morning Lenny. Out for a jog?”

“Spent the night keeping watch from outside, sis,” he said, letting go of Barry’s hand. “You been there all night?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, smothering a yawn. She got up and stretched, her teal silk pyjama top riding up to display a slice of flat stomach. “Gonna go take a nap. Can you boys handle breakfast on your own?”

“I think we’ll manage.”

She waved at them tiredly and stomped off towards her bedroom. Len and Barry headed into the kitchen.

“Guess we weren’t the only ones worried about another attack,” Barry said. His words were punctuated by a sudden gust of wind rattling the windows, and Len looked up to see the clouds closing in again.

_Damnit, Mardon, when are you going to give it a rest?_

“Speak of the devil,” he growled, gesturing towards the window.

Barry had already turned to look, and grimaced. “Oh no, not again.” Snow had already started to fall.

An hour later, Barry had eaten half a dozen eggs and nearly as much bacon. He set his plate down with a sigh, and like it was a signal, the power went out.

The house went dark, and silence descended as all of the little background noises you scarcely noticed - the refrigerator, the electrical generator, the quiet hum of electronics throughout the building - were suddenly gone. The only source of illumination was the fire in the fireplace, currently low, as Mick hadn’t yet applied himself to tending it.

Mick jumped to his feet with a curse. “Generator must’ve quit. I’ll go check it out.”

“Baez, go with him,” Len growled, drawing Barry a little closer against his shoulder. The kid was vibrating a little, clearly eager to go help, but he wanted him to stay close in case this was only the prelude to something worse. Shawna and Mick could handle this.

Shawna nodded and got up, grabbing her coat. “Okay, Snart.”

“And Mick - don’t get lost,” Len growled.

Mick glanced back at him once, and gave a nod. The door opened and there was a rush of cold air as Mick and Shawna plunged out into the blizzard, and closed the door. 

“You think the generator failed by accident?” Barry asked flatly.

“No more than you do.”

“Are they gonna be okay?”

Len scowled, hating the fact that Barry was voicing the feelings he was trying to pretend didn’t exist. “Mick can handle most things. If they get into trouble, Baez can teleport them away.”

“You’re right, Len. I’m sure they’ll be fine.” Barry’s excessively cheerful tone only made Len feel worse. He sat in silence, trying to resist the urge to go after them.

* * *

Mick hated the snow. 

He took one last look at his partner, snuggled up all adoringly and sweet with his new pet Flash, and then plunged into the worst blizzard he’d ever seen - other than the other one from a few days ago. That one had been a bit worse, but he hadn’t had to spend much time playing around in it. Then again, Mardon might just be gearing himself up. It could still turn into a _real_ storm.

The wind blew chips of ice into their eyes as he and the girl slogged through the snow. Mindful of the reminder from Snart that four of their people had already disappeared, he held his heat gun in both hands, struggling to keep his eyes open and watch for danger. But the wind was so fierce, and the snow so thick. Phantoms and shadowy figures seemed to appear before them, only to become bushes or humps of fallen snow when he looked again.

They rounded the corner of the house. Attached to it was a small clapboard shed with a slanting corrugated steel roof, tucked under the eaves of the chalet itself. There was a pretty huge mound of snow in front of the door where it had fallen off the roof. Mick pulled his heat gun and fired it at the obstacle, careful for once not to actually set the shed on fire.

With the snow now melted away, the girl opened the door, revealing a tiny room with the generator sitting in one corner, dark and silent. The little building doubled as a tool shed, which was convenient, because he probably needed some tools. Somehow he doubted that they had just randomly run out of fuel, but if they had, it should be an easy fix. There were a couple of canisters of it in the shed. 

Mick stomped inside, stamping his feet to shed the snow caked to his boots. “Keep watch,” he ordered and went to one knee beside the machine, flicking the dials with his gloved fingers. The fuel dial fell to zero when he tapped it, and he grunted softly, shifting to one side to investigate the fuel tank. What he saw made him curse.

“What’s wrong?” the girl asked nervously. She was standing in the doorway of the shed, arms wrapped around herself against the chill. It occurred to Mick suddenly that she didn’t have a weapon or any way of defending herself. 

“Fuel line’s been cut,” Mick growled. He rose and picked up a large wrench, which he handed to the teleporter. She smiled at him gratefully, which was nice. Actually, she wasn’t half bad on the eyes, though he didn’t see much use in her powers. Where was the fun in just being able to teleport away if you got into trouble? Wouldn’t get into nearly as many fights that way.

Mick hunted through boxes of odds and ends until he found some plastic tubing. At least the line wouldn’t be hard to repair. He found a pair of scissors and cut a length of the tubing.

Then he heard a scream.

He turned. The snow was falling nearly sideways, gusting in flurries past the doorway to the shed. It was easy to see, because the chick who was supposed to be standing guard was nowhere around.

“Hey girlie, where’d you go?” He dropped the tubing, hit the charge button on his heat gun, and stomped outside, glaring around. Everything was blackness and snow, and his ears were burning - not in a good way. Freezer burn wasn’t the kind he liked.

“ _Shawna!_ he yelled, his voice whipped away on the wind.

He heard a soft clattering sound, like boots on corrugated steel. Steel like the roof of the goddamned shed right behind him.

He turned around, bringing up his gun, but never got to fire it. The last thing he saw was a crouched figure on top of the shed, and a very familiar looking wrench heading straight for his face.


	22. Sixteen Million Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh nooooo! Mick!
> 
> \-- Leonard Snart, probably

Minutes passed. Len repeatedly cursed the lack of a clock in this goddamn place, and the fact that if he wanted to find his watch, he’d have to get up and go back to his room. Lisa had made him promise not to wear his watch, since they were ostensibly on vacation, but now he couldn’t stand it. Everything annoyed him, from the snap of a log in the fire, to Hartley’s soft humming as he ate breakfast, to the way Barry kept jiggling his leg. Len put out a hand to stop him, pressing his knee down firmly.

“You think they’re coming back?” Roy asked.

Len gritted his teeth, and looked out the window. The snow had stopped again. The power was _still_ out, which meant that an eight minute job had taken - by his estimate, lacking a way to tell time - approximately sixteen million years, and they still weren’t back.

Barry started up. “I’ll go look for them.”

“No, you _won’t_.” Len got to his feet, caught Barry by the elbow and sat him back down on the sofa. “You’ll stay here. _I’m_ going to look for them. Lisa, Bivolo, Rathaway, you’re coming, too.”

Hartley groaned, then caught sight of the look on Len’s face and the sound cut off abruptly. “Yes, sir,” he said, and went to hunt down his coat.

Barry was beside himself. “But Len, I could just go, and come back in _two seconds_.”

“I said _no_ , Flash,” Len snarled. 

Mick was in trouble, and he had to go find him. He wasn’t leaving Lisa alone while he did that. He didn’t want to leave the house empty, either, and Barry could handle most threats. Given the previous history, if they left the house completely unattended, there was every chance they’d come back to find it half-destroyed or on fire. 

So this was The Plan - keep Lisa close, find Mick, leave Barry in the house in case Mick and Shawna did come back on their own and the two groups missed each other.

And hope that the attack, if it came, would fall on the biggest group of Rogues rather than on the Flash. 

The problem with _that_ part of the Plan, was that their foe had shown a propensity for attacking people when they were on their own. But if he had to leave someone alone, the one person who had successfully beaten _every one_ of the Rogues seemed like the best choice.

“You gonna just leave him by himself to run around?” Roy asked, pushing his glasses up his nose and glaring down at Barry through them. “I still say this is probably all his fault, somehow.”

Len sighed inwardly. No, he couldn’t do that, either. He bent down and chained Barry’s ankle to the leg of the sofa. 

Barry gave him a betrayed look. 

“If anything happens, yell,” Len said. “We might hear you. And wave your arms around really fast again. You’re good at that.” 

He rested a hand on Barry’s shoulder in apology, but Barry glared down at the floor. After a few moments, though, he nodded grudgingly. “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine. Nothing was fine.

Len stomped out into the snow, cold gun in hand, with his sister at his side and Hartley and Roy - the two people in the world probably least suited to helping him with this problem - bringing up the rear.

Maybe he should’ve brought Barry along.

It didn’t take long to find what he was looking for. They rounded the corner, and he immediately spotted a dark mound lying in the snow. Lisa gasped and rushed forward, dropping to one knee next to Mick. Len stood over them like an overprotective gargoyle, scanning the area with his cold gun raised.

“How is he?” he gritted.

“Someone hit him in the face,” Lisa said, and smacked him lightly on the cheek. “Wake up, Mick!” Mick groaned softly.

“Where the _fuck_ is Shawna?” Roy demanded, stomping back from the shed. “She’s not in there.”

“Roy go— no wait, Roy, stay close to Lisa,” Len growled. “Hartley, fix the power, make it quick. I’m going to look around.”

The pattern was obvious, now. First Axel had been attacked, but he’d just been knocked out and left there. Then Mark, Kyle, and Shawna had all disappeared, whereas Mick had been attacked like Axel and simply left where he’d fallen.

Whoever this was, they were taking out the metahumans. Just the metahumans. The regular humans weren’t the focus here.

That meant that Roy, Hartley, and Barry, paradoxically, were the ones in the most danger.

While Hartley darted into the shed, Len walked around it slowly, keeping a close eye out for any movement. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Shawna was nearby, also knocked out and lying in the snow. But as he moved in wider and wider arcs, poking around the woodpile and behind the shed and around bushes and trees, he had to conclude that Shawna had disappeared just as thoroughly as Kyle and Mark had. Surely if she had teleported away to avoid capture, she would have returned by now. 

He returned to the others, arriving just as Mick began to sit up, and the generator started up again with an audible rumble. Hartley emerged from the shed cautiously. “Someone cut the fuel line,” he reported. “Looks like Mick was interrupted in the middle of fixing it.”

“Someone hit me,” Mick rumbled, rubbing at the blood on his face. He grimaced down at his gloved fingers, shiny with red. 

“You’re lucky they didn’t break your nose,” Lisa said, offering him a hand up.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Mick said with a shrug, climbing to his feet with Lisa’s assistance.

“Did you get a look at them, Mick?” Len snapped. He was growing increasingly antsy. Barry was alone now, which meant he was the one in peril, unless their enemy only had it out for the Rogues, but there was no way to know until he figured out who it was.

“Not really,” Mick said, shaking his head to clear it. “They were on the roof.” He gestured. “Got only a quick look, and then they hit me.” He frowned. “I think it was a chick.”

“Shawna?” Roy asked thoughtfully.

Mick frowned deeply. “Could be. I lost track of her.”

“You think _Shawna_ did all this?” Lisa demanded, eyes widening. “ _Our_ Shawna? She isn’t exactly a violent person, most of the time.”

Len cocked his head. “None of this has really been all that violent,” he said. Weirdly, he now realized that was true. Some people had been hurt, and they _could_ have all been killed by Nimbus, but he hadn’t exactly been trying very hard. 

Was it possible that Shawna Baez had orchestrated this? She would have the ability to kidnap other metahumans simply by touching them. Perhaps she could have even used the snowball fight as cover to teleport into the house and destroy it, while everyone assumed she was hiding in the snow. Could she have hidden behind a bush, for example, teleported away, bashed Axel in the head, and then returned to throw snowballs, with none the wiser?

Maybe. But why would she do this? It seemed incredibly out of character. She barely fit in with the Rogues as it was. She was more of a party girl than a criminal, not exactly the Ten Most Wanted type. Hell, she probably wouldn’t even be a fugitive if it weren’t for that jerk boyfriend she’d had. Len rarely involved her in jobs, despite how useful she could be with her powers, and she had never expressed any interest in doing more.

It would also mean that Nimbus and Mardon were in on it. Whatever ‘it’ was. That thought just sent his mind spiraling down other even more unlikely tracks, and he forcibly pulled it back. He would have to think about it later.

“We’ll discuss it inside. Rathaway, do you have anything we can use to protect the generator?” 

Hartley considered for a moment. “You mean, like a security system? I might be able to rig up a live electrical wire attached to the doorknob. It’ll give anyone who tries to get into the shed a nasty shock, which should discourage more tampering. I can include a non-obvious way to disable it from the outside safely, if we need to get inside again.”

“Do it,” Len ordered. “Mick, are you okay?”

Mick wiped away another trickle of blood. “What do you think?”

“Protect Rathaway. Don’t let him out of your sight,” Len ordered. “When it’s done, come right back. Don’t lose him - he’s occasionally handy to have around.”

“Thanks, Snart,” said Hartley.

“Got it, boss,” Mick growled, and the two of them crowded into the shed.

Len hesitated a long moment, torn, but he couldn’t stay any longer and he couldn’t afford to leave their only source of power unprotected. “Come on,” he said to Lisa and Roy, and the three off them slogged quickly through the snow back to the chalet. 

When they reached the door, Len opened it and headed inside quickly, certain of what he’d find - the place torn apart, or Barry gone, or Barry _injured_ —

He did not expect what he actually found.

Barry jumped off the sofa, eyes wide behind his cowl, the chain rattling at his ankle. “Guys, I swear to god it’s like there really is a ghost or something in here!”


	23. That's Not My Fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No ghosts here!

Barry watched Len stride outside, followed by everyone else, and the door slid closed with a harsh thump, cutting off the cold draft. The warmth of the fire curled its fingers around him again, but it was no comfort. The chain attached to his leg jangled every time he shifted, and he couldn’t even recline on the sofa properly. He could lie down okay, but one knee stayed bent with one foot planted on the floor.

He sat up, bent over, and investigated the chain, wondering if he could vibrate it off. But his fingertips had no sooner touched the cool metal links before he sat up and left it alone. He couldn’t let himself give in to the temptation to try. Len would be back soon, and he’d release him from the chain when he got back. Barry had to _trust_ in that, because if Len got back and the other Rogues found Barry free, it would only force Len to be even more restrictive.

And the thing was, he believed he _could_ trust in that.

Though he understood that Len needed to keep up appearances in front of the Rogues, things had somehow changed between them in some indefinable way. Barry could feel it. He felt it in the hand Len had put on his shoulder, like an apology for locking him up. He hadn’t wanted to accept that apology in the moment - and yeah, he knew that impulse was childish - but he also recognized that it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing Captain Cold _did_. If he was just using Barry, then he really doubted he’d apologize for anything. Frankly, that was the way it had been just a few days ago.

None of this made it easier for him to just sit on the sofa when he was sure bad things were happening. 

Then something upstairs fell over with a clatter.

Barry started and jumped to his feet, the chain instantly pulling taut and tugging at his ankle. “Hello?”

Silence met his shout. There was no sound of footsteps, nor could Barry see anyone when he craned his neck and tried to peer up the stairs into the upper floor. 

Then he heard something in the kitchen, cupboard doors banging and swinging, and china rattling together. Something else fell over and Barry jumped at the sound of crashing glass.

“Hey!” He drew a breath, his heart pounding in his chest. “Shawna, is that you? Hello?”

Something struck him on the back of the head. Barry yelped and ducked down, covering his head as a hailstorm of small knickknacks rained down upon him. He couldn’t see who was throwing them at him. They seemed to come from everywhere at once.

Then just as suddenly as it began, the storm stopped, but the weirdness was far from over. Barry heard more noises up and down the hallways. More clattering. Banging of doors. The crashing of furniture.

And then, a high, piercing, shriek. 

Though he couldn’t be sure, it didn’t sound like Shawna’s voice. To Barry’s ears, it was nothing more nor less than an inhuman howl of pure rage.

Then, he heard nothing.

Barry grabbed the chain and vibrated his hands madly. Len would just have to forgive him - someone or something was in the house, and he needed to investigate it before they escaped. 

However, the moment he began to vibrate against the chain, a bolt of what felt like electricity jolted through the cuff around his ankle. He froze for an instant, pure pain running through his body from his foot and exploding up his leg. It felt for a moment like his bones were shattering from some horrifying internal vibration.

He stopped immediately, gasping, tears of pain coming to his eyes.

“Hartley, you _jerk_ ,” he panted, scrubbing away the tears with the backs of his hands. The pain immediately began to fade, and he touched his own leg gingerly, but it didn’t seem as though he’d done any actual injury. He couldn’t be sure that no injury _would_ be done if he tried it again, though. It had felt like the vibration had been fed back into his body in a way he couldn’t handle.

He got down on his hands and knees and poked at the place where the chain was attached to the sofa, but it had been looped around a sturdy wooden post that connected the two legs on that side together and supported the entire weight of the sofa itself. He could probably destroy the entire sofa to get it off, but that would take time.

Before he could decide whether to do that, he heard the door sliding open. He jumped to his feet, seeing Len and Lisa stepping through the door, stamping snow off of their boots. “Guys, I swear to god it’s like there really is a ghost or something in here!” Obviously it _wasn’t_ a ghost, but it had sure sounded like one.

He blinked then, a horrified look coming to his face as he counted heads and realized that there were people missing. “Where are Mick and Shawna? You didn’t find them? Where’s Hartley?”

“Hartley and Mick are fine.” Len stomped over to him and tugged him into a one-armed embrace. Barry’s face was pressed against his shoulder for a moment, and it was warm and nice, though the fabric of his coat was cold from the winter air. Almost as soon as he’d made the gesture, Len shoved him down onto the sofa and then knelt down to release the chain.

“Shawna?” Barry asked again, frowning. 

“She’s gone,” Len said shortly. The chain vanished into his pocket again and he looked up at Barry. “There’s someone in the house?”

Barry nodded uncertainly. “They threw things at me,” he said, pointing to the scattering of small ceramic animals on the floor. “I didn’t get a look.”

“Go on, slugger,” Len growled, unlocking the cuffs from Barry’s ankles. “If they’re in the house, _find them_. Bring them to me.”

Barry’s mouth fell open. Then he ran.

He ran down the hallway to the east first, as that was where he had heard the noises last. A few of the doors were standing open. The rooms beyond had clearly been tossed. Drawers were pulled open and clothing had been thrown around the rooms. 

Other doors were still closed, locked, and Barry paused to grab each doorknob and vibrate it until the lock broke. These rooms were empty, though, unused.

There was no sign of anyone.

He raced back to the main room, through the kitchen. Cupboards were open, utensils and dishes thrown on the floor, some of them smashed. Upstairs, the clatter he’d heard turned out to be a floor lamp that had been knocked over.

While he was doing that, the lights suddenly came on. Thank goodness, at least _something_ was going right. He paused to right the lamp, then headed downstairs again.

He was hesitant to check out his own room with Len, afraid of what he might find, but in the end he gave the western hall the same treatment, along with the library and the theatre. The basement hadn’t been touched - perhaps Len had returned too quickly - but his own room was thrown around in the same way as the others. Barry paused to clean up and put away all of Len’s belongings before he returned to the main room.

It might have seemed like a waste of time, but he discovered something while cleaning up that stunned him. Stunned him enough that before he returned to Len, he went _back_ to the other rooms and the kitchen to confirm his findings.

By the time he got back - still only a matter of minutes after Len had unlocked his ankle cuffs - he found Len sitting on the sofa like he wasn’t concerned at all. Roy Bivolo was pacing back and forth in the middle of the room, and Lisa stood leaning on the fireplace mantel, watching the others with a thoughtful expression.

Barry knew what was expected of him by now. He flashed over to the sofa, coming to a halt in front of Len. “Sorry, sir,” he said. “There’s no one here. Whoever it was, they trashed everyone’s bedrooms, and the kitchen, but, uh…”

Len looked up at him, eyes narrowed. He grasped towards Barry, who automatically caught his reaching hand. Len tugged him down, caught him by the waist, and Barry sat abruptly, dragged into Len’s lap again. 

“What took you so long, then?” Len demanded.

Was he angry for real? Barry swallowed down a startling rush of anxiety. “I just - I needed to check on something. Because, I think for some reason it was Shawna.” He opened his left hand, revealing a smear of greasy black dust on his palm. Black dust he had seen before. “When my friends at STAR Labs and I first apprehended her, we discovered that Shawna Baez leaves behind some genetic material every time she teleports herself. This looks like the same stuff to me.”

Len’s hands squeezed around him, reflexively. “I’ve come to the same conclusion,” he said, his voice low and furious. “For some reason, Mardon, Nimbus, and Baez have betrayed us.”

He turned his head and looked at Roy Bivolo, who blinked at him, startled by the sudden attention. “What do you think?”

“What do I think about what?” Roy exclaimed, defensive.

Barry lifted his head, thinking to speak, but Len grabbed him by the collar and tugged. Barry shut his mouth and looked away, pretending submission. His eyes met Lisa’s. She was looking pale, and Barry could understand it. If all of the metahumans in the Rogues had decided to band together against the Snarts, could Barry even hope to defeat them all on his own, or even with the help of their special weapons? Mark, on his own, had nearly levelled Central City.

“You were in prison with them,” Len said, his eyes narrowed. “I freed you at the same time as the three of them. What can you tell me?”

“I don’t _know_ them,” Roy snarled, spreading his hands wide. “Not any more than you do. It wasn’t like _they_ let us out to socialize.” He jabbed a thumb in their direction, but Barry knew it was the Flash he was pointing at. “I owe you, Snart. And I’ve got no interest in killing you. We’re on the same side, here!”

Len held the Raider’s gaze for a long moment, then nodded curtly and settled back in the seat. “That’s what I figure. Trouble is, I thought the same thing of the three of them.”

“Well that’s not _my_ fault.”

“I know.”

The door opened and Mick stomped in, huffing and puffing with either annoyance or the chill and carrying a load of firewood in his arms. Hartley followed in his wake, blowing on his bare fingers, which were red from the cold. 

“No sign of anyone?” Len demanded.

“No, sign of nothing buddy,” Mick growled, and planted himself by the fire. It was quite low, scarcely more than glowing embers, and the chalet had grown rather chilly while the generator was off. He immediately began applying himself to building it back up with a vengeance.

“You good, Mick?” Len asked, his voice cool and measured.

Mick just gave a snarling grunt in reply.

“Well.” Lisa said brightly. “I’m just going to go start dinner. Roy and Hartley, would you be dears and help me clean up?” The two young Rogues followed her obediently into the kitchen, and soon the sounds of them sweeping up shattered porcelain could be heard.

Barry sighed softly and rested his head on Len’s shoulder. “Is Mick okay?” he murmured. 

Len just shrugged.

“Are _you_?”

Len snorted softly and snuck a hand up under Barry’s shirt, scraping his fingernails down Barry’s spine, then cupped his hand around Barry’s left ass cheek. “How could I not be?”

Barry looked up, startled at the sudden playfulness, and shoved at him. “I’m being serious!” Len just squeezed harder, an evil glint in his blue eyes.

Then suddenly, Lisa poked her head in from the kitchen. “Hey boys? Not to be a bother, but there’s smoke.”

“Yeah, Lisa,” Mick growled, pointing to the roaring flames he’d just built in the fireplace. “It’s called _fire_.”

She shook her head rapidly and pointed towards the kitchen window. “No, stupid. Out _there_.”


	24. Do You Have A Plan?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The heat is getting brought, and Len isn't happy about it.
> 
> Pun intended.

Len cursed and started up from the sofa. He raced outside, aware that Mick and Barry were hot on his heels, his cold gun clutched in his hands. 

Someone had set the woodpile on fire. It was half cinders already, and the other half burning merrily despite the storm whipping around them. The heat was so great that he could scarcely get near, and the side of the chalet was already starting to crackle and smoke, as the fire sought to catch the wooden beams and facade on that side.

He fired his gun, playing the cold ray over the flames and the side of the house, coating all of their firewood and the side of the building in an inch of ice.

Then he rounded on Mick. 

“What the _hell_ is wrong with you?”

“Me?” Mick demanded, his eyes narrowing. The sockets were blackened around a nose that was swelling. Maybe he hadn’t broken his nose, but it was a near thing. “Why’re you mad at me?”

Len gestured to the wood pile. “There’s no way that fire was set in the last few minutes. I know you’re upset, but _Mick_ , if the generator goes out again, that wood is all we’ve got to burn and keep ourselves warm.”

“What’s your point?”

He couldn’t understand why Mick would lie about this. It was so goddamn _obvious_ , and it really wasn’t in Mick’s repertoire to prevaricate. When he’d done something, he admitted to it, and he usually didn’t give a crap if someone thought it was wrong. 

Barry’s hand was on his arm, tugging, trying to get his attention. He shrugged it off roughly and pointed at Mick, then at the smoking ruin again, incensed almost beyond reason. This was even worse than the time Mick had gone off the deep end and nearly gotten them both killed. “There’s no way anyone could set a fire like that with a goddamn match. Not even with an accelerant, _Mick_. There’s a clear burn pattern - the charred logs in one spot from the _absolute hot_ beam, and then the rest of the logs caught from there. Maybe if someone set this a while ago it could’ve gotten this bad by now, but I was _just here_ a few minutes ago.”

Mick leaned in close. “I’m not sayin’ the logs weren’t burned by my gun, _buddy_. I’m sayin’, it. Wasn’t. Me. Did your brain leak out your ears while you were fucking pretty boy here?”

“Hey!” Barry exclaimed. “When did this become my fault?”

Len blinked. And then stared. It clicked, almost audibly. Mick had been in a terrible mood since he got back, and Len had been so distracted that he hadn’t even realized why. “You don’t have your gun.” He hadn’t had it since they found him unconscious in the snow, but it had taken until now for Len to notice.

Mick scowled. “Not like you not to pick up on shit like that.”

Len drew a breath and let it out. “Sorry, Mick.”

“This is all bullshit.” Mick grunted and turned, striding off through the snow towards the back gate in the fence. Len could scarcely see it through the blowing snow, but he was making straight for it.

“Mick!” Len’s eyes widened and he started forward. “Where the hell are you going?”

“Gonna get my gun back,” Mick growled. 

A moment later, his hulking, determined figure was swallowed by the snow.

“D-do you think we should go after him? Uh, you, I mean, since I c-can’t go?” Barry asked. He was shivering, his arms wrapped tightly around himself. 

Len was still staring after his best friend. He blinked again and looked at Barry, seeing that he was in somewhat of a bad way. The sweater he wore wasn’t enough, that was obvious, and it was only getting colder outside by the minute. “No,” he said. He wrapped his arm around Barry and began to lead him back to the house, sharing a little warmth even though he knew it was inadequate. “He needs to cool off, that’s all. He’ll be back.”

 _Or he won’t,_ his mind thought traitorously. Was he abandoning his friend to an unfortunate end? He gritted his teeth. Mick wasn’t what their enemy was after. Len had to trust he’d be all right. 

Besides, it was one thing to abandon him because someone had screwed up and he was arrested or hurt. It was another thing to baby him when he was being an ass and wandering out into a snowstorm of his own free will.

Len paused just inside the door, surveying his meager domain. Ten people. That was how many he’d invited to this party - if one included himself. Barry made eleven. Now they were down to less than half that number. Roy was playing solitaire in a corner. Hartley was fiddling with something that looked like it had come off of Barry’s suit. Lisa was in the kitchen, silently making something to fill their stomachs for dinner. It smelled divine - cheese and cooking chicken and pasta - but that scent was only a distraction from the lingering tang of smoke.

Barry was still shivering in his grasp. “Come on, kid,” Len murmured, drawing him towards the fire. For once, he condescended to consider someone else’s comfort above his own, shedding his parka and planting himself on the hearth in front of the fire, and drawing Barry into his arms. Barry tucked his feet under him and rested his head on Len’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around his neck.

“Are we gonna sleep out there again?” Barry asked softly. He didn’t sound reluctant, more tired and unhappy. Len could relate. This whole situation was draining.

“No,” he said with a sigh. “There’s no point. I want you close and mobile in case Baez or Nimbus attack again. We didn’t learn anything by watching last night. I doubt we’d learn anything by doing it again.”

“Len… I really don’t understand why Shawna would do this,” Barry said, brows furrowing. 

“Me neither.”

“Unless…maybe their minds are being controlled?”

It wasn’t a shocking suggestion. Len had been pondering something of the sort. “Could be,” he said. “That’s why you and Bivolo and Rathaway have to stay close. Lisa and I - and Mick when he gets back - we’ll protect you.”

Barry hesitated, then nodded. “Because whoever it is…whatever they can do, it only affects metahumans. That’s why Axel and Mick were just knocked out. If this metahuman could control them, too, they’d have disappeared like the others.”

Len just nodded, and rubbed Barry’s back. 

“Dinner’s ready, boys,” Lisa called from the kitchen. 

When Len and Barry arrived to take their portions of the thick, hearty casserole - Barry’s heaping on the plate, and the others a more reasonable amount - her smile was wan, but courageously present even now. They all stood around the kitchen island and ate in an oppressive silence. Hartley leaned his long, lanky body against the counter’s edge and ate with his eyes fastened on a book about theoretical physics. Roy leaned back against the opposite counter, his plate braced against his chest as he ate and watched the others.

Lisa perched on a stool, eating daintily, while Len and Barry settled in opposite her. She looked a question at Len, and he shook his head. “Mick decided to go for a hike. Try to see what he could find out.”

Roy turned his head and stared out the window. “Is he insane? He went out in that?”

Though it was full dark now, the pattering of snowflakes continued against the glass, the flakes lit up by the glow from inside for an instant before spattering to nothingness and melting away.

Len just shrugged. “He’ll be back.” He just hoped that was true.

Barry tucked himself against his side as he ate. It was oddly comforting to feel the warmth of him, and Len found himself appreciating it. Strange that Barry should be seeking comfort like this, right now - the Flash had never struck him as the kind to need that kind of reassurance. He’d faced danger from metahumans before, and had always seemed poised and courageous. Sure, he had his friends to back him up, but Len doubted he normally quaked with fear before battles. He went out and got things done.

Then Len glanced at him, and saw Barry shoot him an affectionate look, which brightened into an encouraging smile. He felt the boy’s hand squeeze his own, lightly, under the lip of the counter.

 _Good god. He’s not scared. He’s comforting **me** ,_ Len thought, stunned.

He didn’t have any clue how to feel about that, so he did his best to pretend that it didn’t feel good. That it didn’t matter.

He didn’t need it. Just because he liked it, didn’t mean he couldn’t do without it.

Barry polished off his plate in record time, and then helped himself to more, beaming at Lisa. “This is really great, thanks.” His cheer felt awkward. _Too_ much, in the grim atmosphere, and he fell silent again, seriousness falling over his face like a shroud once more.

“Thanks, honey,” Lisa said warmly.

When every plate had been emptied, Hartley finally looked up and closed his book, pushing his glasses up his narrow nose. “Well. Here we are - what’s left of the Rogues.” He nodded to Barry once, including him in the group. “It’s clear that our enemy has some kind of influence over metahumans. So, what’s your plan, Snart?”

“Do you even _have_ a plan?” Roy asked.

Len looked from face to face, seeing their expressions ranging from concerned (Lisa), to penetrating (Hartley), to challenging (Roy, of course). He didn’t even look at Barry. He straightened his shoulders and looked down his nose at Roy for a few seconds, until the metahuman hunched his shoulders and looked away. 

“I have a plan,” he said. “And we’ll talk about it tomorrow. Rest up. All of you.” He looked at Lisa narrowly, and she nodded reluctantly. “We’ll all stay in the rooms closest to mine. If anything happens during the night, shout. Someone—” He tapped Barry on the shoulder. “Will be there in seconds.”

He caught Barry around the waist and strode back out into the great room, then down the hall towards their bedroom.

When the door closed, Barry looked up at him. “Do you really have a plan?” he asked softly.

“I will. Tomorrow,” Len said, staring into the distance. Now, he just had to think of something.


	25. I'm Really Not That Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prepare your bodies... there's definitely sex on the horizon.

Barry moved into the bathroom to get ready for bed, giving Len some time to think. He took a quick shower, since he hadn’t gotten one earlier, and he was feeling kind of grungy. 

He didn’t speed through it outright, but he did hurry - he didn’t want to leave Len brooding alone too long. Barry sensed that the pressure on the other man was growing more intense by the hour. It was like every time something happened, Len felt personally responsible - Barry could relate, since he’d felt that way lots of times. Even now, he itched to do _something_ to fix this situation, but it seemed like Len was determined to take all of this on his shoulders.

So, it seemed to Barry that the best thing he could do right now was to help Len in every way he possibly could.

Once he was freshly showered and clean, Barry walked back out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel. Len was sitting on the sofa, staring at the cold, empty fireplace, so Barry walked over to it and knelt down on the bearskin rug, building a little fire.

“What are you doing?”

“I know you like it on the chilly side,” Barry said, striking a long match and applying it to the kindling. “I hope you don’t mind me warming it up, just to be a little more comfortable.”

Len grunted apathetically and settled back on the sofa. Barry could feel his cool blue gaze drilling into his bare back while he built the fire up to a gentle crackle. He placed one log on the fire and then got up, turning around and holding out his hand to Len. “Should we go to bed? You’re not gonna come up with a plan just sitting there. We both know what you have to do.”

“I _don’t_ know what to do,” Len growled.

Barry arched a brow. “No, you just don’t want to do it.”

Len glared at him fiercely for a long moment, then sighed and took Barry’s hand. Barry drew him to his feet and stepped into his embrace, slipping his arms around the older man’s waist and tilting his head to kiss him. Len’s lips were cold, a little chapped, but soon softened and warmed. Their tongues dueled languidly, and Barry gave in to the desire to explore for a few moments, running his hands up and down Len’s back. The knit of the sweater was soft under his palms, but he wanted so much more.

He broke the kiss with a nibble to Len’s lower lip, then took a step back, letting his hands rest at the waistband of Len’s pants. Len had a quiet, thoughtful expression on his face, which was at least an improvement over his earlier glare, but no less impenetrable to Barry.

“Do you trust me?” Barry asked, a curl of nervousness in his stomach. He had a feeling he knew what Len was going to say long before he said it.

For once, at least, Len chose not to mock him, though his lips did give a twist. “I think you know the answer to that question, Barry.”

Barry sighed softly, rubbing his hands up and down lightly, brows furrowing. “After all this, do you really think I’d hurt you?”

This earned a blink of surprise. Len’s brows shot up. “Hurt me?” He snorted and reached up, combing his fingers through Barry’s hair. “No, not unless I hurt someone first.”

Barry relaxed. The smile he’d been forcing all evening suddenly felt more genuine. “Then please, can I undress you?”

For an instant, a hunted, uncertain look flickered across Len’s face. Barry waited, hands gently rubbing, for permission - if it was going to come. The fact was, it might not, and Barry would just have to be okay with that if that was the case. His own ego wasn’t more important than Len being comfortable.

To Barry’s slight surprise, Len nodded slowly. “Yes, you can.”

Three magical words that sent a thrill through him. Barry beamed, unable to help himself, and hooked his thumbs in the hem of Len’s sweater. He lifted it up, and Len allowed it, raising his arms when Barry pulled. A moment later, the sweater was discarded on the floor and Barry pressed his palms to Len’s bare skin for the first time.

He ran his fingers down those toned abs. Here and there, his fingertips brushed over a light scar, but there was certainly no reason to feel repelled or disgusted. Barry now understood that Len had survived things that he could only imagine in his worst nightmares, yet for all that Barry couldn’t validate some of his choices, the older man retained a certain nobility. After spending nearly a week with him, Barry was convinced that he was a good man. Those scars weren’t anything to be ashamed of.

Barry undid Len’s fly and tugged his jeans down, taking his time and rubbing his hands down Len’s legs as he removed his pants and underwear. Len stepped out of them, lifted his feet so Barry could even take off his socks. The towel slipped when Barry was down on the floor, and Barry let it fall away. They were both nude when Barry got to his feet again.

“Better?”

Barry looked up at the question and saw Len looking away, brows furrowed and shoulders tight. “Len,” he murmured, dropping his hands away and catching his hand instead. “Come to bed?” 

Len nodded, and Barry drew him along, seating himself first on the bed and putting his arms around the other man’s waist once more. He leaned close, kissing and sucking at the other man’s skin. He explored his lower chest and abs with his tongue and lips, pressing kisses to scarred and smooth skin alike. 

His hands rubbed up and down Len’s spine, tracing the curve of his muscles and the bumps of his spine. Len gave a soft sigh and rested his hands on Barry’s shoulders, thumbs rubbing gently up and down the back of his neck in a way that made Barry shiver.

Finally, Barry leaned back and looked up, trying not to give in to frustration. Len was half-hard, clearly interested, but there was still that tension thrumming through him like an electrical current. He wasn’t pulling away, wasn’t stopping him, but he wasn’t relaxing, either.

There wasn’t anything Barry could say that’d reassure him, he realized. All the “it doesn’t matter”s in the world wouldn’t immediately change how Len felt. Len was indulging him, which was incredibly sweet, but being bared to Barry’s hands and mouth was still difficult for him. There was just no getting around that.

“Hey,” Barry said, with sudden inspiration. “You, uh… you remember when I said you could chain me up?” He blushed red, looking up to search Len’s expression.

The other man glanced down at him, arching a brow. “How could I forget?”

“Would that make you… feel better?” Barry asked softly. 

Len inspected him thoughtfully. Barry’s mouth was dry, tongue like sandpaper. His heart beat a little faster in his chest. “I thought you didn’t want me to.”

“That’s not what I said,” Barry said hastily. It _hadn’t_ been. “I said I didn’t know.” 

Len raised his hands in confusion. “And…? Do you know now?”

Barry scooted back a few inches, so they weren’t touching one another, and faced Captain Cold squarely. “Stop avoiding the question. Would it make you feel better or not?”

The older man crossed his arms across his chest and looked down his nose at Barry. “Why would it?”

“I, uh, well—” Barry spread his hands. “You’re a bit of a control freak, Len.” He looked up, a faint smile crooking his lips. “Maybe you don’t trust me - and I get it, I do. I don’t think you trust anyone, and that’s understandable - but I’m willing to trust you. This way… I can look, not touch. So would that be hot for you, or not?”

Len stared at him for a few moments, a look rather like a mixture of awe and confusion crossing his face. “Why would you do this? You wanted to touch me, and I let you do that. So…” He fell silent, a crease of frustration between his brows, like he couldn’t think his way through this.

Barry’s expression softened, his heart squeezing. Had no one ever really done things for him? “I do want to touch you,” he said gently. “But more than that, I want you to feel free to be yourself with me. You don’t have to cover up, and get me off then go jerk off on your own, like you have to earn the right to be touched by me.”

Len was still staring at him in utter incomprehension. Barry got up, moved to the dresser and picked up the wrist cuffs and chains Len had taken off of him the day before. He had never put them back on after Barry had driven Kyle Nimbus away. Now Barry walked over to Len and pressed the chains into his hands, then settled onto his back on the bed. 

“It’s me that has to earn the right to touch you,” Barry told him softly, lifting his hands and gripping the bedpost behind him. The move stretched his long, lean body out, opening him up to Len’s eyes.

“Jesus Christ.”

Len was staring at him, expression slack and the chains clutched loosely in his fingers like he’d forgotten they were there. He didn’t move for a long moment, while Barry slowly turned red under his gaze. Was he being ridiculous? No, the gobsmacked look on Len’s face was almost worshipful. He just couldn’t be certain exactly what was going on inside that head of his.

Finally, Len seemed almost to shake himself out of a kind of trance. “You are…too good to be real,” he murmured. He bent over and fastened the cuffs around Barry’s wrists, looping the chain around the post and securing him there. Barry tested the bonds a little, finding that he could slide up and down somewhat, but was otherwise immobilized.

“I’m really not that good,” Barry said, sheepish. 

Len just shook his head. He knelt on the bed, gently pushing Barry’s legs apart and settling between them. “So, how about you lay out the ground rules,” he murmured. “What’s off the table? What’s on?”

Barry swallowed. “Um…” This was edging into territory where he really felt he was on uncertain footing. Was Len asking for some kind of safeword? “I’m really not into like, whips and chains and all that.”

Len laughed. He reached out and jingled the chain at Barry’s wrist. “Oh really?”

Despite his shyness, Barry felt a thrill. Len was relaxing already, which meant he’d made the right choice. He leaned up, seeking Len’s mouth for a kiss, but the older man leaned away just enough that he couldn’t quite reach. There was a mischievous look in his eyes, and Barry made a soft noise of frustration, arching his back and trying to shift just that little bit closer.

Len ran his hands greedily up Barry’s stomach to his chest, then pressed him gently down to the bed. “Now, now, you’re the one who decided you wanted to give control to me,” he purred. “Better put some edges on this before I decide to just do whatever I want.”

“I thought I was your Christmas present,” Barry challenged him, his heart fluttering like a bird’s wing. 

Len cocked his head. “You’re right.” He ducked his head down abruptly, and Barry yelped into his mouth as Len gave him a deep, rough kiss. His tongue surged into Barry’s mouth, his hands brushing over his nipples and his body shifting to push Barry’s legs wide apart with the weight of his hips.

He rocked against him, his cock now hard and ready, sliding against the crack of Barry’s ass. 

It was terrifying. It was completely amazing.

After a few long heart-thumping minutes, Len came up for air. Barry gasped for breath, squirming under him, and Len gripped his hips, holding him steady.

“You still don’t want to put any limits on this?” Len taunted, eyes bright with a challenging fire.

Barry looked up, meeting that gaze. He knew what he _should_ do, what the smart thing to do would be - tell Len not to hurt him, to stop if he said no. He knew it was possible if he said nothing, that Len might take that as carte blanche to push all the limits he could, just to see what would make Barry blink first. It would be the asshole thing to do, but some might say that technically it would be ‘allowed’.

But Barry did the stupid thing. “I trust you, Len,” he said. They had two more nights after this. Len hadn’t had to allow Barry to take his shirt off and touch him. Barry also hadn’t had to put himself so completely into Len’s hands. If this didn’t work out, then they didn’t need to do anything like this again.

But Len _had_ told him he would never rape anyone, and Barry believed him.

Len leaned over him. “You shouldn’t.”

Barry raised an eyebrow, and lobbed the ball firmly into Len’s court. “I guess that depends on you.”

There was a moment of thought, Len’s expression flickering with realization, and then smoothing out into that smug smirk once again. “All right, Flash. You win this round, but there’s something I’m going to have to do to you that I think you’re not going to like.”

Okay, now Barry was getting nervous again. Len got up and walked away, opening a drawer and rummaging inside it. 

“Uh…what’s that?”

Len held something in his hand as he returned. For a second, Barry thought it was a belt, and for one panicky moment he thought Len was going to whip him with it. That would definitely have him pulling the plug - assuming Len would even listen - but as Len got closer Barry realized he was carrying the tie from one of the terrycloth robes.

“What’s tha—” Barry had no sooner opened his mouth to query, when Len stuffed part of the sash into it. He tied it behind his head, then slipped his finger into Barry’s mouth, testing the fit wasn’t too tight. Barry glared up at him. What was up with _this_? He couldn’t exactly object if he was gagged.

“My sister’s in the next room,” Len said matter-of-factly. “And the others are in the second room down. When you start screaming, I don’t want anyone running in here thinking we’re being murdered by the metahuman.” He set the keys to the cuffs down on the side table, well within his reach, then brushed his fingers gently through Barry’s hair. “If I do anything you don’t like, tap on the headboard with your fingers. You all right like this?”

Barry swallowed hard. The sash made his tongue feel all cottony, and he wasn’t sure exactly how he felt about Len’s comment about screaming, but he could sort of see the necessity. He hadn’t exactly been quiet the night before. He nodded, and didn’t tap his fingers. He _had_ committed to trusting Len, so he’d just have to see where this went from here.

Len smiled and caressed his cheek, then brushed his fingers against Barry’s nipples again. “I wish you could see yourself,” he murmured. “Like a god or something.” 

Barry made a skeptical sound, and Len chuckled softly. “I’m serious.” He bent his head, kissing at Barry’s neck. Slowly, Barry felt himself relaxing, growing warm and feeling safer despite the gag in his mouth and the cuffs on his wrists. “Your body is the peak of perfection,” Len murmured. “Not a scar on you. Perfectly fit. _Better_ than human. To have this kind of power contained just for me? It’s heady.”

Barry shivered all over, feeling himself blur just a bit, and Len gave a soft, low groan of appreciation. “You see? That is incredible.” 

He blushed.

Len grinned at the sight of it and bent his head to kiss and suck at Barry’s throat, then down, raising welt after welt on his neck, clavicle, chest until Barry was whimpering and squirming desperately. He licked at Barry’s nipples, teasing them to stiff peaks.

His hands were busy, too. He parted Barry’s legs and settled between them again, his hands teasing at the shaft of his cock and then delving deeper, probing with a dry finger, simply rubbing in gentle circles at his entrance. 

“I’m gonna fuck you tonight,” he promised in a low, rich purr of desire, and Barry groaned deep in his throat with need. 

He wished he could talk, tell Len how gorgeous he was. After all of that praise, and the fact that he _knew_ Len was shy about his own body, the words he wanted to say were crowded and jammed up in his throat. The gag was the only thing holding them back, like a cottony dam on a rushing river. So all he could do was make needy, hopeful noises and arch his back, rubbing up against Len as greedily as the older man was touching him. 

Len leaned over and grabbed a bottle of lube out of the side table drawer, pouring a generous amount into his palm. “How do you like it?” he asked, as if Barry could answer. Barry whined around the gag, and Len smirked, like he’d deliberately asked him knowing that he couldn’t respond. 

He probably had, the jerk.

Len slid a finger into Barry, who whined even louder, parting his legs a little further. It felt a bit weird - _good_ , but weird, and he squirmed helplessly. Len’s fingers bit into his hip, holding him steady as he fucked him with the single digit. “You want more?” he asked, and Barry nodded, nodded _hard_ , and Len made a little ‘heh’ sound in the back of his throat before working a second finger into his body.

Barry moaned and writhed, urging Len on wordlessly in any way he could. The chains rattled against the bedpost with every movement he made. Soon Len added a third finger, stretching him even wider, until it felt like he might break apart. His body blurred and shivered as Len opened his fingers, and he gave his first shout.

“Goddamn,” Len growled, kissing his cheek, his neck, almost desperately. Barry’s nose was filled with the scent of him - peppermint, and sweat, and woodsmoke from the fire earlier. He sucked again, harder, raising another welt that would fade too quickly. “Goddamn, Barry, you’re amazing.” 

Barry whimpered with need, and a moment later Len’s fingers were gone, replaced with the head of Len’s cock nudging at his entrance. Len steadied him with his hands, fingers biting in as Barry shivered and blurred again, like he was afraid that Barry would vibrate right out of his grasp. He swore, softly and methodically, as he pushed deep into Barry’s body, and Barry vibrated around him, helpless to stop himself with the overwhelming sensation.

One hand steadying him, the other jerked him roughly as Len began to snap his hips forward. Barry looked up, memorizing that look of concentration on Len’s face, that little brow furrow, like he was working out a problem. But his eyes were fogged with pleasure and the expression on his face when he looked down and saw Barry looking at him was almost lost in wonder and desire.

Then Len’s cock rubbed against Barry’s prostate, and he couldn’t really look anymore. He squeezed his eyes shut and yelled around the gag, a shout of pleasure ripped from his throat with each punishing thrust. The chains bit into his wrists, and Barry _writhed_ and blurred, and Len swore again. Pleasure pounded through him, his world narrowing to a single point, at the place where they moved and joined together.

Then Len gave a soft grunt, one of those little sounds of ecstasy Barry knew now was all he’d allow himself, and warmth rushed into him. Barry arched his back one last time, crying out around the gag, and fluid spattered his stomach and chest as he orgasmed.

Len rolled off of him almost immediately after climax and Barry shivered for a moment - but only a moment. The gag was pulled away, tossed onto the floor, and Len reached over him, scrabbling with his fingers until he snagged the keys. “Len,” Barry moaned, panting for breath, his fingers clenching in the bonds. “Please.”

Len unlocked him, and Barry threw himself at the older man, wrapping his arms around him and huddling into the broader chest. “Hey, hey now,” Len said, freezing for a moment before holding him close. “Barry…” There was a frantic note in his voice. “Did I—”

“I’m fine,” Barry gasped, his throat constricted with tears. He knew Len was worried, but he couldn’t quite frame it in his own mind, let alone explain it. “Just intense. It was good, really good,” he managed, and lifted his head, showing Len his smile. 

Len’s expression went slack with relief, and then he kissed Barry softly on the lips. “You’re so odd,” he said affectionately. “Do you cry every time you have sex with someone?”

“Don’t know,” Barry laughed, and buried his face in Len’s neck again. He never wanted to let go. “That was the first time - well, with a guy, anyway.”

Len froze. “ _What?_ ” There was a moment of silence, while Snart apparently rearranged his entire worldview. Barry’s breathing calmed and the tears went away, unshed. He was warm and utterly content, completely pleased with how things had gone.

Whereas Len was clearly still grappling with what he’d just learned.

Barry lifted his head and kissed him softly, and that seemed to break some kind of spell. Len pressed him down, kissing him again, harder, rough but somehow almost desperate. “You gave that to me,” Len murmured. “What the fuck, Barry?”

Barry shrugged, flushing. “I wanted to.” He let his hands run down Len’s back, caressing. “You’re amazing, too,” he added, shyly.

Len shook his head, bemused, then shifted, no longer holding Barry down with all of his weight. The two of them rearranged the blankets, settling into a comfortable position with Barry’s head pillowed on Len’s shoulder. 

They lay there in silence for a few minutes, their breathing evening out. “I don’t want this week to end,” Barry murmured, though he knew that was insane. They were all in constant danger - there was a murderous metahuman out there, or maybe three, or _something_. And Barry’s family were miserable, and everything was horrible.

Everything but this.

“Me neither,” Len confessed, running a hand down Barry’s back and drawing him a little closer.


	26. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little break from the sweetness for some pain

Roy woke to the tickle of dust in his nose, and a sharp ache in his shoulders. He opened his eyes and reached automatically for his shades, but his arms wouldn’t move. He couldn’t _feel_ them. A low pulse of panic rushed through his stomach, when he realized - his hands were tied behind his back, and he had been in that position long enough that his shoulders had started hurting and his arms had gone numb.

“What the _f—_ ” he started, looking around. He was lying on his side in the foetal position, his feet tied together and drawn up behind him, tied to something, or maybe linked to his hands. It was fucking _freezing_ , though a rough blanket had been thrown over him, which smelled of horses and mildew.

Wherever he was, it was gloomy and dark enough that he couldn’t see more than a foot or two in front of him, but something moved in the darkness.

“Hartley?” he hissed.

There was a soft moan in response. Not Hartley. A woman’s voice.

“Shawna? Shawna is that you?” The figure shifted a little, and he spotted a mop of dark hair. That was definitely Shawna Baez. He tried again. “ _Shawna_.”

Footsteps in the darkness. Approaching. Roy shifted again, ignoring the shriek in his shoulders, and pushed with his legs until he was on his back, his numb hands wedged under his ass. He strained and pushed, pulling against the slight give in the ropes, to inch himself along the floor. He felt uneven floorboards beneath him, splintery with age and wear. He was probably ripping his hands all to hell.

He’d moved only a few inches before he cracked his head on something made out of stone, and had to bite down on an oath.

A figure loomed out of the darkness. Female. Slender to the point of emaciation. Her silver-and-brown hair wild around her head like she hadn’t brushed it in a year.

“My new friend,” she cooed. “Where d’y’all think you’re going, sugar?”

“I’m not your friend, bitch!” he snapped. He wanted to use his powers, felt the pulse of rage behind his eyes, aching to get out, but he didn’t dare. Without a target to direct her wrath upon, she might end up attacking him, or one of her other prisoners. It now seemed clear to him that the other shapes he could scarcely see in the darkness beyond where Shawna was lying had to be Mark and Kyle.

She didn’t seem to hear him. She smiled, displaying a few gaps where teeth had fallen out. “You and I, we’re special,” she said. “But those others, they ain’t friendly ‘t all.”

She bent over him, and Roy shied away. Her breath stank. A hand reached out towards him. “Don’t fucking touch me!” Roy yelled, straining against the bonds.

“Don’t you worry,” she said, and her hand dropped down towards his face. “You and me together, we’ll drive them out of the mountains. Then you and me, and our other friends, we can live here together. All together.”

Her fingers brushed lightly against his skin. And something - something _awful_ \- seemed to burrow itself beneath it. 

Her gentle touch burrowed into his very soul, and then it started to _pull_.

Roy started screaming, and he didn’t stop until he fell shrieking into darkness again.


	27. Clothes, He Needed Clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CSI Barry still exists, guys!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting two this morning since the last one was so short. You're welcome!

There was a banging on the door that had Len out of bed, on his feet and charging up his cold gun before he had even fully woken up. He stopped dead where he was, standing in the middle of the room and ready to kill with nothing to shoot at. 

Clothes. He needed clothes.

“Snart!” Hartley yelled through the door. “Can I come in?”

“No!” he snapped and turned to Barry, who was sitting up, tousle-headed and looking utterly fetching. “See what it is,” he ordered, and strode into the bathroom.

Barry’s eyes widened and he whirled into action, blurring around the room as he dressed and pulled on his cowl in a flash. He unlocked the door and opened it, while Len wrapped himself in a terrycloth robe and calmed the frantic beating of his heart. Though he was undeniably slower than Barry, Len still stepped out of the bathroom only seconds after Hartley came barreling into the room. 

“Snart, Roy’s gone,” Hartley said. He also looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, his hair sticking up in spikes all over and wearing a pair of silk pyjamas that Len might have thought was attractive as hell if he wasn’t now completely and utterly ruined for sex with anyone else but Barry, ever again. “I woke up and he was just _gone_. There’s evidence that Shawna has been here again, as well. I saw her genetic material on Roy’s sheets.” 

On another day, that phrase might have implied something far less disturbing - and more titillating - to Len, but this time the possible dirty implications barely crossed his mind. 

“So she’s kidnapping us out of our beds now,” he growled. 

Barry looked at him. “Len, we have to do something. We have to take the fight to them.”

“There’s more,” Hartley said seriously. “You need to come see.”

Len looked at Hartley. “Lead the way.”

Hartley led them out into the hallway. There was an old paint can lying discarded on the floor, the dark brown paint flowing from its mouth and covering the carpet in stain. On the wall a message had been scrawled in four-foot letters.

‘ _YOU WOULDN’T GO HOME_ ’

It looked like a child’s ominous finger painting. The painter hadn’t bothered to use a brush, and there were finger smudges and a nearly-full handprint left behind as well. A single footprint was also left on the carpet, a shoe-print, where their nemesis had stepped in some of the paint and then stepped back to inspect their handiwork.

Barry immediately bent down to inspect the footprint and fingerprints, peering in closely, and Len was abruptly reminded that when he wasn’t kicking ass, Barry was a CSI. 

Len knew he couldn’t learn much from the prints, so he stared at the message. “Whoever it is wanted us to leave?” he said thoughtfully. That did make some sense. Not a _lot_ of sense, but if one surmised that they wanted the Rogues to leave the mountain, it did fit. The endless bad weather, making it impossible to go outside and amuse themselves, the use of Nimbus’ power to drive them out of the house. The generator failure. The fire.

But now, it seemed, their attacker had given up on driving them out. That was bad.

“Find anything we can use, Flash?” Len asked. Barry was kneeling on the floor inspecting the paint footprint, and he rose to his feet, shaking his head.

“Don’t have the equipment to run a fingerprint analysis, obviously,” he said. “And maybe if this wasn’t nice carpet and I had more references, I could analyze the shoe tread and get some idea of what sort of shoe she wears, but that’s not gonna be much help even if I could do it.”

“She? So it definitely is Shawna?” Hartley asked.

Barry shrugged helplessly. “It’s a woman’s shoe. At least, it’s small and narrow. Also, there’s only one print, so probably she teleported away instead of walking, and I can see the dust she leaves behind as well. So yeah, it’s almost certainly Shawna.”

He bent down again and touched the print. Paint came away on his fingers, but as he lifted up his hand and held it out, Len spotted something else, caught in the paint. “There are fibres, too,” Barry said. “And glass.”

“Glass?” Len asked. He peered even more closely, and saw a few tiny specks glittering on Barry’s fingertip.

“Perhaps if we could get a closer look and analyze that, we could figure out where Shawna’s been. Should we use my magnifier?” Hartley asked, and both of them turned to stare.

“You brought a magnifier with you on holiday?” Barry sputtered.

“It’s just a table-top magnifying glass,” Hartley said defensively. “I need it for soldering microelectronics. How do you think I analyzed the gadgets in your suit?”

Barry broke into a grin. “Show me.” Then he paused and looked at Len, who waved a hand.

“Go. Come back when you have something.”

The two young science nerds hurried down the hallway, already discussing what else Hartley had brought with him that they might be able to use to extract the tiny bits of evidence from the footprint and get a better look. Len walked back into his bedroom and got dressed.

“Lisa!” he shouted as he walked down the hallway. 

“Here, Lenny.” Her bedroom door opened, and he paused and turned to face her. Her hair was still wet from the shower and she had a brush in her hand. Her eyes slid past him, widening as she caught sight of the message on the wall. “Shit.”

“Bivolo was kidnapped out of his bed last night. Flash and Rathaway are analyzing what evidence we’ve got,” he said. “Depending on what they find out, I think we’ve got to leave, today.”

“Leave?” Lisa pursed her lips. “You mean go back to Central, or go rescue our people?”

“The latter.” Len winced. “Even if I was willing to leave them all behind, the roads are still impassable.” He gestured to the message on the wall. “Maybe if they wanted us to go, they should’ve left us a note _sooner_.”

His sister grimaced with a nod. “Maybe we should go to the firetower and call someone for help? Wouldn’t there be a radio there?”

“There would be.” The idea wasn’t one that had occurred to him, and he tilted his head. “Who do you think we’d call, though?”

She raised her hands in a shrug, uncharacteristically awkward. “James and Axel, maybe. Also, the Flash has friends.”

“Friends who’d help _us_?”

She gave him a look, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Point.” Of course they’d help. 

However, the idea of calling in STAR Labs galled him, and it was a huge risk. Barry had been missing a week. Cisco and Caitlin would definitely come if called, but the question was - who would they bring with them? Would they even listen to the one who’d kidnapped their friend, or would they bring an army of cops with them to arrest all the Rogues? 

Len was not quite ready to confront Joe West.

A bang out in the great room interrupted that train of thought. The Snarts exchanged alarmed glances, and then raced together down the hallway. Len put out a hand to stop Lisa when they reached the end of the hall, and she paused instantly, gold gun raised. But a moment later, they both relaxed.

Mick looked like some kind of frost giant, his clothes covered in a patina of snow. He stomped and growled like a bear, shaking the worst of the snow off as he strode towards the fireplace. He dropped a fire axe on the mantelpiece and then knelt down and applied himself to building up the embers to a roaring flame.

“Mick, you’re back.” _Thank god,_ Len wanted to add, but Mick would only mock him for showing too much affection. Len crossed the room towards him, dropping down to one knee next to his best friend. He still had some blood on his face, but it was long-dried and he appeared unaware of it. “You okay?”

“Still can’t find my gun,” Mick growled. “I found this axe, though. It’s a pretty good axe.”

“You’re freezing! Let me get some blankets,” Lisa said, and rushed away.

“We’ll all go look for your gun together,” Len assured him. “Where were you all night?”

“Went to the fire tower,” Mick explained. “It got too cold and dark, so I went there. Climbed up to the top, but couldn’t see much. I stayed there for the night and came back.”

Len nodded. “Don’t suppose you tried out the radio.”

Mick shook his head. “It was smashed all to hell.”

So much for Lisa’s idea of calling for help. Even if he wanted to, they were alone in this, after all. 

Lisa returned with a pile of blankets, and draped one around Mick’s shoulders. He looked up at her. “Thanks babe,” he said, then huddled closer to the fire, staring into the flames.

Barry and Hartley emerged, the two young men trotting quickly towards them. “Len,” Barry said. “I think we found something.” He was all but vibrating with excitement, though his expression was more baffled than anything else. 

“What it means, we aren’t certain,” Hartley put in. “But the glass is _stained_ glass, pigmented.”

“And there are traces of lead,” Barry put in, the two boys practically fighting for the chance to give their conclusions first.

“From the church, then,” said Mick.

There was a momentary silence. 

Len looked at his friend. “What’re you talking about, Mick?”

Mick was still gazing into the flames. He looked up, blinking. “There’s a church,” he said. “Got a window like the one the kids are talkin’ about, but it looked half smashed from outside.” He looked at Barry and Hartley. “Where’d you find the glass?”

“Uh, we found it in a footprint, left last night,” Barry explained, nonplussed.

Mick shrugged. “Then we know. That church has gotta be where they’re holed up, right?”

Len glanced around at the other four. “Gear up, we go to scout the place in ten,” he said, and then hesitated, looking at Barry. “Come here.”

Barry walked over to him, brows furrowing. “You aren’t going to lock me up again, are you?” he asked unhappily. “Please don’t. At least if I’m not chained up, I can fight if they come back.”

“I’m not locking you up.” Len produced the keys and reached up, tugging Barry closer. He inserted the key into the lock at the back of Barry’s collar and turned it. The collar clattered to the floor and Barry stared at him in amazement. “You’re coming with us, Flash.”

Barry hugged him. A quick squeeze, flickering with lightning. “I love you,” Barry whispered into his ear. Len’s heart all but stopped. 

And then he was released again. Barry pulled away again, before Len had even had a chance to consider how to react, or even fully process what Barry had said.

 _He doesn’t mean that,_ he told himself sharply, trying to restart his lungs, to pretend his whole body wasn’t tingling from that lightning-charged embrace. His expression felt frozen, but that was better than displaying the shock and awe and abject terror he felt at that sweet - meaningless, it had to be meaningless - declaration.

Hartley cleared his throat. “Ah, if we’re bringing the Flash along, then he may want to wear his suit.”

Len turned his head. “What did you say?”

“I thought you _burned_ it,” Barry exclaimed.

Hartley pushed his glasses up and smiled sheepishly. “That would’ve been quite a waste of good technology.”

Len drew a breath. He had to focus. “Flash, suit up. We’re leaving.”


	28. Go Save a Bunch of Homicidal Maniacs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> /points to title

Len took off the collar.

_Len took off the collar._

Barry wanted to do laps around the chalet. He wanted to take Len back to bed and make love to him and show him how much he appreciated him sticking his neck out for Barry. Trusting him. Believing in him.

But he didn’t have time for any of that. They had to go save a bunch of homicidal maniacs from something even worse.

Hartley pulled his suit out of the closet and Barry dressed in a whirl. He didn’t even bother to leave the room - after all, he knew Hartley wouldn’t see anything. Even still, the other man was staring in amazement by the time Barry was done, and he gave an appreciative whistle that made Barry blush.

“I’ve got to admit, I’m glad you’re here, Flash,” Hartley said.

Barry smiled awkwardly. On some level, he was happy about it, too, but then he remembered his friends and family back home, and it was difficult to be truly enthusiastic about it. “I’m glad I can help,” he said, which was completely true. 

Hartley cocked his head. “What about Snart? You seem like you’ve turned around when it comes to your opinion of him.”

Barry felt his ears turning red and hoped the blush wasn’t too obvious. “Ah…things have definitely changed. He’s not like what I thought at first, I guess.”

Hartley nodded, giving him a thoughtful look. “You don’t seem scared of him at all, anymore.”

Barry hesitated, his eyes widening as his heart sank. Had he messed up again? He was supposed to be cowed and afraid, though the necessity had seemed to lessen as more and more of the Rogues who really hated him got kidnapped. Hartley didn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d challenge Snart, or really hold it against him if he wasn’t a completely cold-hearted asshole. 

Even still, Hartley was theoretically an enemy of Barry’s. Was it possible that Len would lose face now, if Hartley realized that Barry had never been truly cowed to begin with? Barry’s mind raced as he struggled to think of some way to remedy this. 

“I… I mean, he’s a pretty scary guy,” he said lamely. “He’s shown me my place, so…” Oh god, the only things he could think of to say sounded like something out of a really bad BDSM porno. He couldn’t even finish without turning completely red. 

There was a moment of skeptical silence, then Hartley threw his head back and laughed. “You know, we all thought he beat the crap out of you the first night. Just somehow wailed on you until you were too scared to even mouth off, but he never hurt you at all, did he?”

Panicking, Barry waved his hands. “No, no, you’ve got it all wrong, I—”

Hartley put a hand on Barry’s shoulder to stop him, then stepped back and looked through his glasses at Barry like he was a particularly interesting specimen. “Amazing. He’s a serious pro. He’s gotten you this messed up in just seven days.”

Now Barry scowled. “He hasn’t messed me up, Hartley. He just… he…” He hesitated. “He’s not the monster you think he is, that’s all.”

Hartley raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Down, boy. I never said he was a monster.”

“You— The first day,” Barry began, annoyed. “You were worried about me. You said I was lucky it was him.” So why was he being such a dick to Len now?

Hartley snorted faintly and turned away, pulling out a bag and unzipping it. He pulled his sonic gloves on, securing them around his wrists. “You _are_ lucky it was him,” he said. “He won’t _kill_ you.”

Barry bit his lip. Hartley did have a point. “Would you have?”

The young man glanced up at him, and shrugged, his lips twisting into a half-smile. “Nah.”

Well, that was something. Barry was still simmering with irritation at the way that even Len’s own people misjudged him, but he nodded and offered a faint smile to the other man. “I wish we could be friends.”

Hartley blinked at him in surprise, then he frowned and headed for the door, head down and gloved hands clenched. “Whatever, Flash.” Barry could do little but trail along after him unhappily. Maybe Hartley wished the same. 

So Hartley thought Len had manipulated him, but try as he might, Barry couldn’t believe it. Len had been so solicitous in his own weird way, and it seemed clear to him that Len genuinely wanted and liked Barry, but hadn’t been willing to force himself on him. Barry had practically been the one to initiate everything, to push Len further along this path, not the other way around. If that meant Len was manipulating him, then he really _was_ good at it.

They found Len, Lisa, and Mick in the great-room, wearing heavy coats and carrying their guns - except for Mick, who had a red-bladed fire axe resting on his shoulder. 

Len nodded approvingly at the two younger men as they joined them, then tossed them both coats to put on. “We’ll go to the church, scout around it first. Flash, you up to doing a little recon?”

“Always,” Barry said with a grin. It felt nice to be getting ready to help save someone, to be the Flash again. He’d missed it more than he’d even realized.

“Stick with us until we get close,” Len instructed, as Mick opened the door and let in a rush of cold air. The snow was blowing, but it wasn’t storming right now, at least. There was even a bit of sunlight showing through cracks in the cloud cover. “We still don’t know what this meta can do, and we need to be close to back you up in case you get attacked, so don’t go running off. Understand?”

“I got it, Len,” Barry said, glancing at Hartley. He and Hartley were the only metahumans left. It was strange to think that they were the ones in the most danger.

They trudged through the snow towards the back of the property. Past the generator building, where a hum told them that the power was still on, and the woodpile - little more than a pile of ashes covered in a thick layer of snow and ice, now - and then across a flat stretch of ground towards the fence line. There was likely a path underneath all the snow, but it was impossible to tell. 

Fifty feet of slogging through the soft powder and Barry was thinking longingly of the snowshoes in the storage shed where he and Len had spent the night, only those snowshoes were damaged, and probably fifty years old. Also, Barry had no idea how to use them. 

At the back of the property was a wooden gate. Mick lifted the latch and pushed it open. It swung easily, the snow already pushed aside in a fan-shape. Barry shivered and his neck itched as they passed through the gate. 

Beyond was a stand of dark evergreens, and a path leading up the slope. They headed for it.

Once the trees closed in around them, at least it was possible to walk without slogging through snow. The group of five spread out, but not far, Lisa and Mick taking the rear and Len at the front, both Snarts holding their guns at the ready. Hartley and Barry walked side by side in the middle of the group. 

It was so weird to be heading into battle walking so slowly, and to be protected like this. Barry itched to stretch his legs, to _run_ , but Len was right to keep him close. All of the other metahumans had been taken through a method that they didn’t understand. It was possible that their enemy could turn Barry against them, and if he was caught, it would be all over for all of them. 

He couldn’t stand the thought of being turned against the group of them, used as a weapon against his will. And he could only imagine that was what had happened to the others.

The path sloped steeply upwards at times, and more gently at other times. After walking for an hour, they reached a junction. Mick grunted and gestured with his axe towards the right. “Other way goes to the tower,” he muttered. They went right, and kept walking, down a slight incline and then through another dense patch of trees.

Then, they reached a low wall made of piled up stones. Len stopped and ducked down, putting his back to the wall and holding his cold gun close against his chest. Everyone else joined him, pressing against the wall and staying hidden.

Len turned to Barry, a serious look on his face. His goggles were covering his eyes, making him look fierce and impenetrable. Barry imagined he probably always looked like that when he was planning a heist. He was more used to seeing Len in the throes of battle, firing his cold gun and having a great time. 

“Go do a lap of the grounds. If you see anyone, don’t engage them, don’t try to be a hero, just come straight back here.”

Barry nodded. He put a hand on Len’s, where it braced the barrel of his cold gun. “I understand. I’ll come right back.”

Len gave a nod. “Go then, Flash. Run.”

Barry jumped to his feet and ran.


	29. It Stopped Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thrilling season finale! (Though not the last chapter, of course)

Len waited, tensely, counting the seconds as Barry whooshed away in a flicker of lightning. 

He still didn’t have a goddamn watch. 

How long could it possibly take for the Flash to circle around a stupid build— He was back. 

Barry skidded to a halt and threw himself down next to Len again, not even breathing hard. “Okay, the church seems to be intact, except one section collapsed towards the far side,” he said. “There’s a big double door at the entrance, and a side door on the near side, but the door on the other side is probably impassable. I checked and neither of them are locked.”

“You _checked_?” Len hissed, tensing.

“I did it really fast!” Barry protested. “Also, I saw a light. Not sure where it came from, exactly, but when I was passing by one of the windows, I definitely saw a light, but from any distance you don’t see it, so maybe it’s in a room inside or something like that.”

Len nodded, calculating for a moment, then he turned to his crew.

“Mick and Lisa, take the side entrance. Rathaway, Flash and I will come in the front. We don’t know what we’re really going into, so we’re gonna have to improvise somewhat. If you get attacked, defend yourself, but try not to kill any of _our_ people unless you really have to.”

“He means, don’t kill anyone at all,” Barry exclaimed in a harsh whisper.

“I _mean_ , don’t _die_ ,” Len corrected coldly. “Any questions?”

There were no questions, though Barry was still looking worried. Len nodded. “Good. Lisa, Mick, we’ll give you five minutes to get into position. I’ll fire my cold gun into the air as the signal. Let’s go.”

Mick and Lisa slipped away together, moving hunched over along the line of the wall until they disappeared into the darkness. Len counted in his head, leading the way in the other direction and through the gate, which had rusted away so badly it had all but crumbled to dust. 

They stole quickly across the grounds, which were overgrown with the brittle remains of weeds. Little snow had fallen here, which seemed significant to Len - they were far enough away from the chalet that the storm hadn’t been overhead. If it had been a natural storm, this place certainly would have been caught in it, so this proved what they had all surmised - that Mark Mardon had caused the storm, specifically to attack the chalet.

To drive them out? They had never even considered leaving. Maybe they should have, only then Mark would have been abandoned to his fate.

Hopefully, all four of the kidnapped metahumans would be grateful for their efforts to stay and rescue them.

Len reached the front door of the church, two massive leaves of wood, bound in iron with iron rings to pull them open. He pressed his back to the stone wall to one side of the door, and gestured to Hartley to come to his side. He nodded to Barry, and then seized one of the rings. “Pull on three,” he ordered.

Barry nodded, and grabbed a ring in his red-gloved hands.

“One, two, _three_.” 

They heaved. Hartley stepped back and away as they pulled the two doors open. The moment there was enough space, Hartley stepped into the space opened between them, hands raised offensively, and gloves glowing blue.

“Get out!” came an angry screech from inside.

Hartley fired his sonic weapons, and there was a rumble. Len rounded the door, cold gun raised and at the ready, while Barry joined them from the other side.

The interior of the church was in shambles. There was a hole near the ceiling, where the massive stained glass window above the door had long ago broken, and half had fallen into the building. Many of the other windows were also shattered, letting in the weather without any barrier.

Many of the pews had overturned, possibly when Hartley fired his weapon. The altar was a ruin, half of it covered in rubble and wood where one corner of the building had caved in at some point. In the opposite corner was a kind of rudimentary lean-to, made of broken pews and other junk, piled up and around a small circle of stones, in which a fire had been built. It flickered sadly, the only source of light in the room other than the few sad shafts of sunlight struggling through the cloudcover.

Their nemesis climbed to her feet, panting. She wore a long coat and ragged boots, her arms like sticks and her fingers practically claws. Her eyes were wild and her brown hair shot through with silver, though her face looked like it had been young and pretty before being ravaged by deprivation. Len had never seen her before in his life.

On what was left of the dias were four huddled figures, draped in heavy blankets. Len couldn’t see them moving.

Were they all _dead_?

Barry was stepping forward, his hands out placatingly. “Look, we’re just here to get our people back,” he said. “After that, we’ll go, just like you want.”

“Your people?” the woman snarled. “They’re _my friends_ now, and they ain’t goin’ nowhere!”

“Flash,” Len snapped, striding forward into the front of their little group and raising his cold gun threateningly towards the metahuman. “Get them back to the chalet. We’ll handle her.”

Barry nodded and zipped away. In an instant, he’d grabbed up one of the figures on the dias, and whooshed past Len and Hartley, out of the church. 

The woman screamed, and her eyes flashed red. Len stared straight into them, unblinking. That was _Roy’s_ power. She had just used his power.

Good thing he’d put special lenses in his goggles a long time ago to prevent Bivolo from using his powers on him.

“Rathaway,” he snapped. “She’s been stealing our people’s powers. You still with me?”

“I’m fine, what happened?” Hartley asked. Len glanced back and saw to his relief that the kid looked fine. Len had been blocking his view of her when she fired off the Rainbow Raider’s ability. 

“She’s trying to affect our emotions,” Len said. “Keep your eyes down.”

He could hear grunting and scraping from the side. The side door was blocked with debris, and Mick and Lisa were having difficulty getting into the church on that side. Even as Len became aware of it, he saw an axe head bite hard into the door, as Mick began to hack his way through.

So, they were alone for the moment. Len turned his attention on the woman, and fired his cold gun.

She dove to the side, and the cold blast hit a pew instead, which was instantly coated with ice. 

There was a flicker of lightning and a rush of cold wind. Barry was back. The Flash whirled for a second time through the church, and grabbed up another of their people. For an instant, Len recognized the hairless head of Kyle Nimbus, before Barry was gone again in a rush of air and electricity.

“No! No!” A hand lashed out from hiding, reaching towards the altar, and clamped onto the exposed leg of one of the two remaining people lying there.

Shawna’s screams echoed through the church.

Then suddenly there was a puff of smoke from behind the pew where the woman had been hiding, and she reappeared at the other end of the room, crouched on the rubble where the collapsed part of the building was.

Len swore and fired his cold gun again and again, feeling the concussion at his side as Hartley joined in, both of them trying to catch the teleporting metahuman. She was too quick.

Mick broke through the door, only for the metahuman to appear directly in front of him. He swung his axe at her, and she vanished, then appeared _behind_ them.

Behind _Lisa_ , who whirled around, trying to bring her gun to bear on the metahuman, who had a rock in her hand. Len yelled pointlessly, forced to watch helplessly as the metahuman cold clocked his sister in the temple with a rock.

Lisa fell. Mick nearly buried his axe in her skull swinging wildly at the metahuman in the instant she vanished in another puff of smoke. He managed to pull his swing at the last moment.

“Mick!” Len snarled, eyes tracking to try to see where the metahuman had gone. “Get Lisa to safety!”

“Get my gun,” Mick yelled, pointing with his axe. Len turned to see where he was looking, and saw the heat gun sitting next to the little fire, amongst the rest of the junk. The arsonist bent and grabbed up Lisa, carrying her away with a stream of epithets in his wake.

Before Len could even consider going after the heat gun - which really honestly wasn’t his first priority right now _Mick_ \- Barry whirled past him once again. 

Was he moving more slowly? Len tracked him with his eyes, though he was aware that Hartley was still firing uselessly at the teleporter, who puffed and dodged and weaved around the church too randomly to be caught.

Barry ran to the front of the church again, paused, bent to pick up Shawna. He was panting for breath, tired from the effort of carrying two people all the way back to the chalet and returning.

And the metahuman appeared right next to him. “You’re _fast_ ,” she said, and grabbed Barry’s face in both hands.

Barry’s scream knifed right through Len. 

“No!” Len snarled and ran towards the altar, but he was too slow. _Too_ damn slow. She was as fast as the Flash, now, whirling around the room in a flicker of lightning while Barry was still falling to the floor.

Len skidded on debris as he reached the young man, almost falling flat on his face. His knees hit the ground hard enough to bruise and he grabbed Barry’s arm, searching, finding his pulse.

It was fast. Still too fast, but not _inhumanly_ fast. Barry groaned softly, eyes closed and fluttering, utterly limp as if the metahuman had sucked all the energy out of him along with his powers.

Suddenly, Len realized that Hartley had stopped trying to attack the woman. The young man stood in the centre of the room. He shed his sonic gloves and spread his arms wide, as the golden light of a speedster whirled in a spiral around him. “You want friends? Then _take me_. I’ll stay with you.”

“What the hell are you doing, Rathaway?” Len shouted. He released Barry and struggled to his feet, as the woman came to a stop. Her coat was smoking, burning away, her hair crisping from the friction of her run. She gazed at Hartley with shock and incomprehension.

“You…you’d stay? I’ve been ever so lonely.”

Hartley smiled and offered her his hand. “Sure.”

She took it. Hartley gasped and his eyes rolled back in his head. Veins of black seemed to crawl up his bare arm, popping out like something was crawling under his skin. He shrieked like his body was tearing in two, and dropped like a stone.

And then, the metahuman clapped both hands to her ears, and started screaming.

“No, no! The noise. The _noise!_ Make it stop!”

“Good one, Rathaway,” Len murmured. He had seen the weakness in her ability, and had _given_ her his power. His power to hear so well that he needed special devices in his ears to keep from going insane. 

She continued to scream, pleading until her voice cracked from the strain. 

Len walked up and shot her in the head.

“I think it stopped, now,” he growled, staring down at the corpse at his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first person who successfully guesses the name of the metahuman, gets to prompt me for a story!
> 
> Edit: The winner has been chosen! Feel free to groan at me about the pun in the title of the story.


	30. I'm a Killer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Cold has killed again...

Barry came back to himself wrapped in the warmth of a thick parka and held up by strong arms. He vaguely remembered this sick _pulling_ sensation when the metahuman touched him, and an unbelievable wave of agony as the speedforce was sucked out of him. He had been conscious after that, but so drained that he couldn’t move or even open his eyes. The sounds of the battle and more unholy screaming had come to him as if through a thick fog.

He still felt like he’d been squeezed through one of those mop drying things the janitors pushed around at school, but at least he could open his eyes. He did so, and looked up at Len’s very serious face, then around at their surroundings. Trees. Lots of trees. Len was carrying him back to the chalet, and he wasn’t wearing his coat - Barry was.

“Did we win?” 

Len started and looked down at him, crooking a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We won. She’s dead.”

Barry lifted his arms. They weighed a thousand pounds, but he put them around Len’s neck and tightened. “Is everyone okay?”

Len’s lips thinned. “We’ll find out soon enough. How do you feel?”

“Tired.” He frowned. “But okay, I think. I think I can walk. Where are the others?”

“Mick’s up ahead with Lisa,” Len said, pointing vaguely with his chin. “Bitch hit her with a rock right before she got you. You got Nimbus and Mardon out and the others are back at the church, still. I could only carry one.”

Barry squirmed and Len stopped walking, letting him down. He kept hold of the older man for a few moments after his feet hit the ground, testing his footing and making sure he wasn’t just going to collapse if he let go. He could feel Len shivering under his hands, and as soon as he could, he shrugged out of the parka and handed it back. “Put it on, Len, you’re freezing. We should go back for the others. Is Hartley okay?”

“Kid saved the day,” Len said, wrapping up in the warm coat. “He got her to touch him, and she couldn’t handle his powers.”

Barry winced, remembering Hartley’s screams when they took away his special ear pieces. “Ow…that was smart.”

“Dastardly.” Len was smirking. “I’m proud of him. Like the son I’ll never have.”

Barry punched him in the arm. 

They turned to walk back. “How did she die, though?” Barry asked, wishing he didn’t have to.

Len’s silence was answer enough, but after a few seconds, he said the words. “I iced her.” His tone was cold, devoid of remorse. His sidelong glance was challenging.

Barry bit his lip, his stomach bottoming out. So Len had killed again. 

They walked in an oppressive silence for a few minutes before Barry spoke again. “I’m just gonna - you know what? I’m feeling better. Why don’t you go back to the chalet and I’ll bring the others back. Won’t take me five minutes.”

Len stopped dead, and Barry felt the temperature drop another ten degrees. “Sure, Flash,” he drawled. “Catch you later.”

Barry put his head down and ran, giving himself to his returned speedforce, and leaving Len behind in the snow.

When he reached the church, Hartley was awake. The young man was bent over Shawna, shaking her shoulder. She groaned softly, eyelids fluttering, but didn’t wake. Barry ran up to him and stopped. “You okay, Hart?”

“Okay enough,” he said, looking Barry up and down penetratingly. “Our powers came back when she died.” He gestured towards the middle of the room, a place that Barry hadn’t yet summoned the courage to look at yet.

“Right,” Barry said, his lips feeling numb. Len had killed her. Would they have gotten their powers back if he hadn’t? They couldn’t know, because no one had tried another way. “Why don’t you head back? I’ll get Shawna and Roy and beat you there.” 

Hartley’s lips twisted into a sardonic smile and he rose to his feet, scooping up his sonic gloves in a smooth gesture. He looked Barry up and down. “Very well.”

Barry watched him go, then he drew a deep breath and walked over to where the metahuman had fallen. He screwed up his courage and looked down. She lay sprawled like a broken doll, her head encased in a layer of frost and her eyes staring, unseeing. Her mouth was still open in a silent scream.

What had happened to her, he wondered. Had she fled Central City after the explosion and tried to eke out an existence up here? Had she at one point realized that her touch hurt other people? Was that why she’d isolated herself until she’d gone so crazy that she’d decided to start taking them instead?

He bent and touched her hand. Her fingers were like twigs and cold as ice. Maybe she’d have died anyway, but that didn’t mean that they shouldn’t have tried to save her. 

Yet the anger he wanted to feel at Len just didn’t come. This unknown, lonely woman had nearly killed all of them, and Barry understood how protective Len was of his sister. Barry couldn’t condone what he’d done, couldn’t accept it, but this also hadn’t been the act of a cold-blooded killer. Len had been trying to protect them all, and she had died a painless death after god knew how many months of suffering. 

Barry straightened and returned to the dias, lifting Shawna into his arms. She stirred, and he held her close. “It’s okay, Shawna,” he said. “You’re safe.”

Then he ran back to the chalet, passing Hartley, Len, and Mick - who was carrying Lisa - on his way.

Once he’d gotten Roy to safety as well, he pulled all of the recovering metahumans close to the fire and built it up. They were getting low on firewood, but that was a problem he was confident they could solve. 

Mick arrived shortly thereafter. Lisa was pale, but she was already awake and looking alert and pissed off. Mick carried her to her room bridal style as she loudly demanded a shower to wash the blood from her face.

“Yes, your Highness,” Mick growled as he stomped down the hall. “You need me to prop you up while you shower, too?”

She smacked him on the shoulder. “You _wish_ , Mick Rory!”

Hartley returned several minutes later. By then, the others were waking up in earnest. Barry had started a massive pot of chicken vegetable soup - one of Joe’s recipes. He had to figure they hadn’t been fed or cared for very well. They all had rope burns on their arms and legs and looked pale and exhausted, so the soup would probably help them a lot. Unfortunately, though, you couldn’t hurry soup.

Hartley walked into the kitchen. “Need a hand with anything?”

Barry was stirring the soup, trying not to do it very fast, because every time he got distracted and started speed-stirring, he tended to get soup on the ceiling. He pulled the spoon out of the pot and looked at Hartley, aware that his worry was written all over his face. How had Hartley beaten Len back?

“Um… Yeah, do you mind? It just needs to simmer for another twenty minutes or so and then everyone can eat.”

“No problem,” Hartley said, and plucked the spoon from Barry’s hand. “He’s outside.”

Barry felt relief crash over him, along with embarrassment that Hartley had practically read his mind. “Thanks,” he said, and sped away.

Len was indeed outside. He was sitting in the gazebo, in fact, glaring at nothing and toying with that ring he wore on his pinkie finger. Barry walked at normal speed across the grounds and then paused on the steps up to the gazebo. Len looked at him with that forbidding, cold expression he sometimes had. This time though, it didn’t make Barry fearful that Len didn’t want him around, because he knew what it meant, now.

It meant Len was expecting _Barry_ to reject him.

“Can I join you?” Barry asked.

Len arched a brow and gestured to the bench beside him with a flick of his fingers. “Free country.”

Barry drew a breath and walked up to him and sat down. He desperately wanted to wrap his arms around Len and hug him until he relaxed, but he knew he couldn’t fix this without saying anything.

“I know you think I’m going to be mad at you, but I’m not,” he said frankly. “I wish you hadn’t done it, Len, I really do. But… I also get it. You were protecting us.”

There was a short silence. Len was staring at him in consternation. “You’re not angry that I killed her?”

Barry spread his hands. “No, I’m not. I wish you’d tried knocking her out, first, though. Maybe that would’ve been enough.”

“And then what?” Len snapped. “A lifetime in some psyche ward? What I did was a mercy.”

Barry looked up and met his eyes. “That’s not your choice to make, Len.”

Len snorted. “Ask Mardon what he thinks of that.”

Barry froze. Joe had killed Mark’s brother, it was true. He had done it to save lives, but he had still done it. So far, Barry had not made that sort of a choice - people had died, but he had always tried to save them. Some had been killed by Eobard Thawne. Others had chosen death for whatever reason. But Joe had done what Len felt he had just done, and Barry had never held the death of Clyde Mardon against his foster father. 

He dropped his gaze. “You’re right,” he said. “It’s different, I still think, but I shouldn’t hold you to a higher standard than Joe.”

“Sure you should,” Len said, maddeningly. “I’m a killer, and Joe is a cop. His murders are legal. Sanctioned.”

Barry shook his head. Instead of allowing Len to draw him back into a fight he didn’t want to have, he scooted closer and wrapped his arms around Len’s neck. He kissed him, eliciting a surprised noise. Len was stiff for a moment under his lips, but then he softened and Barry found himself enveloped once again in Len’s warm arms and pulled close against his body.

They kissed for long minutes, tongues exploring unhurriedly, before Barry finally broke free and smiled at the other man. Len still didn’t quite look like he understood, his expression caught somewhere between a wary frown and a smile. “I love you, Len,” Barry said softly. “That’s still true, no matter what you think.”

Len’s eyes widened and his body shook all over. He freed a hand and cupped Barry’s cheek, his fingers trembling. “Are you… you realize you’re nuts, right?”

“I don’t think so,” Barry replied. His heart broke into a thousand pieces once again at the look on Len’s face - a lost, wondering, awed expression. “And it’s true. Even— Even if you don’t feel the same way, I understand. It’s okay, Len. Just know that it’s real for me, at least.”

Len shuddered again and suddenly Barry was pulled forward, Len’s face buried in Barry’s coat as the older man hugged him hard enough to squeeze all the air from his body. “I’m not— I.” Len gave a soft, frustrated sound, and tried again. “Barry—” But once again, he stumbled to a halt, confused and shaking.

“It’s okay,” Barry said, heart squeezing. It was answer enough that Len felt _something_ so strongly that he couldn’t even voice it. “It’s okay, Len.”


	31. I Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now...the smut you've all been waiting for.

Len didn’t make any move to go inside until he was sure he could touch Barry or look at him without shaking. It seemed like Barry didn’t mind, because he just stayed right where he was, holding him and making soothing noises for at least twenty minutes with scarcely any fidgeting.

What Barry said had shaken Len to the core, though there was a voice that whispered in the back of his mind that Barry only _thought_ he loved him, that it was the sex, or even Stockholm syndrome, though Len had done his best not to inspire that in the younger man. He hadn’t been cruel to Barry, he didn’t think, so it couldn’t be that Barry was being coerced into feeling this way. But falling in love with him? How could that have happened?

All Len knew was that he never wanted to let go.

They eventually returned to the chalet to be greeted by a lot of tired and complaint-heavy Rogues, and the heavenly smell of rich, hearty soup being poured into bowls. Barry changed out of his super-suit - leaving the cowl on, of course - and after eating and recovering, the rest of the Rogues had the wherewithal to shower and change and settle into a comfortable evening.

With their enemy destroyed, the pall hanging over them lifted. Though some of the chalet’s furniture was damaged and all of the bedrooms had been tossed, Barry was able to clean up the main area in a twinkling to give them a place to spend time. 

And most importantly, the alcohol was mostly untouched by the metahuman’s wanton destruction. 

It flowed. Liberally.

It wasn’t New Year’s Eve yet - that would be tomorrow - but the Rogues drank and played games and caroused like the year was at an end anyway. They talked about what had happened, and all came to the conclusion that Len was the real hero here, for keeping everyone together and icing that metahuman’s brain. To Barry’s credit, he didn’t get uppity about it. Len couldn’t recall getting his back slapped so many times in one evening. They all owed him, even more, and this time they were happy about it. Len made sure Hartley got his share of the credit as well, and the young man received more than a little appreciation in his own right for his self-sacrifice.

Though few of the Rogues were willing to be overt in their gratitude towards the Flash, Len also noticed a shift in their attitude towards him. No sidelong, angry glances were cast in Barry’s direction. No one suggested that he should be chained up again. He was even invited to join their massive game of Cards Against Humanity, in which Mick won hand after hand. Everyone enjoyed watching Barry blush, but Len was pleased to observe that he got a few zingers in, too.

The chalet was filled to bursting with warmth and good food smells and laughter until well past midnight. 

Len did join in on the first few hands of the game, but eventually withdrew from it and simply sat next to Barry, his hand at the small of the younger man’s back, his thumb brushing idly up under his shirt and caressing his skin. Barry leaned in at intervals and gave him sweet, adoring looks that everyone pretended to ignore. Len struggled to maintain his stone-faced dignity, but it was difficult, because every glance from Barry warmed him all the way through.

And then finally Mick speared them both with a look. “You gonna go fuck him or do we have to organize a ticker tape parade first?”

“Seriously,” Mark said, gathering up his cards and fanning them out to look at them critically. “You’re like fucking newlyweds. I’m getting cavities over here.”

There was a round of general agreement that they were completely disgusting and should get out immediately.

Len stood. “ _Fine_ ,” he said archly. “Well, if that’s the way you’re all going to be, we’ll show ourselves out.”

Barry scrambled to his feet and nearly knocked his chair over, blushing so deeply his cheeks almost matched his cowl. “Wait, I— now?”

“Now,” Len confirmed, and scooped the lithe younger man into his arms. Everyone threw chips and popcorn at them as he carried Barry from the room. 

Barry didn’t complain. He tucked in against him and nibbled on Len’s neck, which was extremely - and delightfully - distracting. 

Len kicked open the door, which had never been locked again after that morning, and then kicked it closed again. He threw Barry on the bed, who immediately stripped off the cowl and tossed it onto the floor. Len pulled off his boots and joined him.

They kissed. Len wanted to drown in the taste and scent of him. Lightning on his tongue. Electricity under his fingers. Barry was warm and thrummed with energy and life, even when he wasn’t speeding. It was noticeable how much more _life_ there was in him when he wasn’t chained and confined. He burst with energy, barely restrained by his skin.

Len pulled Barry’s sweater up to his armpits and ran his fingers greedily over his torso. Barry sat up and broke the kiss, stripping it off and then grabbing for the hem of Len’s sweater in return. He didn’t resist as Barry stripped him, baring his pale, scarred skin.

“Tell me again,” Len murmured, pressing Barry down to the mattress and climbing over him to straddle his hips. 

“I love you,” Barry said without hesitation.

Len bent and kissed him, his fingers trembling on Barry’s skin. “I’m a killer.”

“I love you, Len,” Barry whispered against his lips. 

Len squeezed his eyes shut, shuddering. “I’m damaged.”

Barry shook his head. His hands ran over Len’s back, warm and safe. “I love _you_.”

“I’m not a nice man.”

“I love you, anyway.”

“We barely _know_ each other, Barry.”

Barry smiled. “I know enough.”

He was out of arguments. Len drew in a breath and let it out, ragged, and fell silent. 

Barry’s hands were deft and gentle as they undid the fly of his pants and tugged them down. Len let him do it, rolling onto his back and lifting his hips, feeling the warmth of Barry’s gaze on him. On every inch of him. There were still parts of him - less physical parts - that he knew Barry remained unaware of, but for once he anticipated the times when Barry would learn something new about him, rather than dreading it and expecting that Barry’s view of him would change. There was safety in knowing Barry loved him, and somehow had accepted him for who he was, even in the face of all the ugliness.

And he knew he’d fallen in love with Barry just as thoroughly as Barry had fallen in love with him.

He reached for his young lover, stripping his jeans off just as deftly as Barry had done for him. Then they were both naked, and Barry pressed against him, parting his legs to straddle Len and bending so their lips met once more. They kissed, breaths mingling, hands wandering and stimulating one another. Here and there, a finger would brush over a nipple and one of them would gasp. Barry’s ass ground slowly against Len’s erection, their hips shifting and moving in concert.

“Touch yourself, Barry,” Len said, gazing at him with an air of something like worship. Did Barry have any idea how gorgeous he was? From the way he acted, he clearly didn’t, but to Len he was perfection incarnate. 

“I want you to touch me,” Barry said, hands splayed over Len’s chest and a frown forming an adorable little furrow between his brows. 

“I _will_ ,” Len said fervently. No, he had no intention of denying himself tonight. He grabbed the bottle of lube and held it out to Barry. “Prepare yourself for me. I want to watch you do it. Fingers inside yourself.”

Barry’s cheeks pinked, but he nodded obediently. That push and pull was even more electrifying to Len, who was used to being in charge, and yet also knew that Barry tended towards stubbornness. But Barry wanted to please him, and that made Len’s whole body flush with heat and desire. 

Barry slicked his fingers with the lube and then reached between his own legs. He braced himself over Len, that furrow deepening as he probed himself and slid a finger inside. His lips were moist and swollen from kissing, parted slightly in a soft gasp as he fucked himself with his own finger.

Len watched his face. _Drank_ it in. Memorized every tiny shift and every little noise.

“That’s it, Barry,” he murmured. He palmed Barry’s ass, kneading it, spreading the cheeks wider to open Barry to his own probing finger. “Feel good?”

“Not enough,” Barry said cheekily. He grinned, though his eyes were squeezed shut in a look of concentration. “It’s not your dick.”

“I’ll give you that, soon enough,” Len assured him, purring like a cat. “Another finger, now. Stretch yourself.”

“Nngh, Len,” Barry moaned, obeying the command and worming a second finger into his body. He lowered his head to rest against Len’s shoulder, his hips moving restlessly as he fucked his fingers in and out. Len whispered into Barry’s ear, all the filthy things he’d fantasized about.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered. “I’m going to fuck you so hard tonight, Barry. You won’t be able to walk, let alone run.”

“Len…” Barry whined.

“How do you think the news will take it the next time you foil one of my heists and I fuck you over the nearest flat surface?” Len went on, relishing the image. “Think you’d mind if Mick holds your arms steady while I pound into you from behind?”

Barry moaned, needily. 

Every time Barry shifted, their cocks rubbed together, a tantalizing tease of the stimulation to come. When Barry’s breathing was nothing but hot, helpless pants against Len’s chest, and he was easily working three fingers in and out of his own body, Len spanked him a couple of times. “Up,” he ordered. “I’m going to take you now. You want me to do that, right?”

“ _Fuck_ , Len,” Barry moaned, pushing himself up on trembling arms. “Yes, I want you inside me so bad.”

“I could never deny you anything, handsome,” Len breathed. He knew it was the truth.

He encouraged Barry to sit up, guiding him by a hand on his hip and another on his own dick until Barry slid down his cock, inch by inch. Barry groaned and threw his head back, the long column of his neck open wide to Len’s greedy gaze. His hands clutched on Len’s forearms, his body clenching and squeezing rhythmically until Len was fully seated inside him.

Len panted, eyes half-lidded with the urge to close them, but he wanted to watch Barry all the way through this. “That’s it,” he groaned. “Now ride me, Barry.”

Barry began to move, moaning as he pushed with his legs and Len’s cock slid nearly all the way out of him, then gasping as he dropped his weight down again. He moved faster and faster, and Len pushed with his own hips upwards, moving in counterpoint. Len’s fingers curled around Barry’s cock, stroking him in deep, rapid pulls that dragged more groans from Barry’s throat.

At some point, Barry shifted angles slightly, and Len must have brushed against his prostate, because he cried out throatily and _vibrated_ around his cock.

Len swore, and gasped, and called Barry the most beautiful thing he had ever fucked. And Barry cried out Len’s name over and over, each time half a prayer and half a plea.

They moved together, in total sync, until Barry began to clench and gasp and shout Len’s name to the ceiling, bucking and writhing and _blurring_ as fluids spattered Len’s stomach and chest. Len groaned and arched his back, thrusting into Barry’s clenching passage. “Barry,” he moaned, as he tipped headlong over the edge and climaxed. The arching wave and crash of pleasure over him overwhelmed his senses.

He soon came back to himself, Barry cuddled up against him and still panting, his face buried against Len’s shoulder. Len was relieved to confirm he wasn’t crying this time. He traced gentle patterns over Barry’s smooth, perfect skin with his fingertips, and Barry sighed - a happy, utterly contented sound.

“I’ll protect you, Barry,” Len murmured. 

Barry smiled and kissed him softly. “I love you, too, Len.”


	32. A New Tradition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now...the conclusion

Barry could still walk the following morning, but he suspected that it was mainly because of his healing factor. Though Len’s refractory period was much longer than his, Len proved once again that he was more than adept enough with fingers and tongue to keep Barry satisfied. And getting pounded from behind once Len was recovered enough from his own orgasm was just as delicious as Barry had anticipated.

In the end, they both collapsed into unconsciousness more than falling asleep.

And when Barry woke up, it was to Len’s mouth on his cock, bringing him to yet another orgasm with focused and ruthless attention. Barry’s throat was raw again from screaming Len’s name. 

Len wiped his mouth and smirked like a cat who’d drank a whole bowlful of cream instead of having just swallowed a load of come. Barry was still panting hard when he tackled the older man to the bed and wrapped his own lips around his cock. Len groaned Barry’s name like a prayer when he came. 

Then they showered. Together. Barry wound up testing the strength of the shower head, which he grabbed onto and held for dear life while Len fucked him up against the tiles.

Barry wondered if all of this was desperation, on both their parts. He didn’t know when the roads would be clear enough for them to leave, but he couldn’t allow himself to stay one minute longer than he had to. 

After the shower was done, they finally managed to put clothes on without giving in to the urge to tear them off again. This time, someone had laid out a black outfit with buttons and a lot of leather, which Barry recognized as one of Axel’s. He groaned at the sight of it, and Len grinned at him, an evil glint in his blue eyes. 

“I don’t think this suits me,” he said, pulling on the pants, which were some kind of fake leather and so tight it looked painted on. Axel had no hips to speak of. Barry’s runner’s build wasn’t exactly curvy, but he still strained the seams.

Len slapped him on the ass and smirked. “It suits you very well, in my books.”

“That’s just because you like looking at my ass!” Barry protested, pulling on the jacket…thing… and blushing at himself in the mirror. All he needed now was a lot of black eyeliner. 

“Corr _ect_ ,” Len purred. The clothes stayed on, but it was a near thing.

They didn’t get breakfast in bed, because everyone else was more hungover than they were. Len and Barry emerged and skirted the paint spatters on the carpet, returning to the great-room to find Hartley snoozing on a sofa, and Roy curled up on the floor with a jacket under his head. Everyone else appeared to have made it back to their rooms, but weren’t up yet.

Barry was halfway through his first helping of eggs and bacon and considering the option of climbing into Len’s lap and feeding him tidbits, when a loud horn blast jolted them. They exchanged confused glances and hurried to look out the front windows, passing Hartley and Roy, who were sitting up and wincing at the sound.

A massive snow plough was heading up the drive, pushing aside the snow into two huge drifts, and leaving a clear path behind it. Barry’s jaw dropped, and he looked at Len, who looked no less stunned than he was. Len opened the door, and the two of them stepped out onto the icy front porch, just as the plough came to a stop.

The door opened, and James Jesse jumped out, beaming. “Happy New Year’s Eve,” he exclaimed. “My boy and I heard the roads were still closed and we thought, why not give you boys and girls a hand, hmm?” 

Len’s hand shot out and gripped Barry’s wrist, very tightly. “That’s very kind of you, James.” For a second, Barry wondered why, and then he remembered - he wasn’t wearing the collar or cuffs, and James Jesse and Axel Walker wouldn’t understand. He scooted a bit closer to Len, curling in on himself submissively.

James didn’t seem to notice or care. He walked into the house, looking extremely smug, and then exclaimed at the state of it — “What in heaven’s name happened to the window? Must’ve been one _helluva_ party!”

Axel got out from the other side of the vehicle, and stared at Barry. “…Nice outfit.”

Barry flushed, mortified. “Thanks.”

They followed James back inside, but Barry could feel the tension that lingered in the air. A spell had been broken, or maybe Len was just worried. Barry leaned in close to him. “Len, I’m sorry to ask this of you, but with the snow gone…”

Len glanced at him, expression difficult to read. “I’ll take you home, now.”

“Are you sure? The party’s not supposed to be over until tomorrow.”

Len’s expression softened slightly. “The party’s not my concern, and I doubt anyone’s going to actually question that I’m packing it in early, given everything that happened. Let’s just go tell Lisa and Mick, and get my things, and we’ll be on our way.”

Barry kissed him gratefully, and didn’t even care that four Rogues were watching. Though Len didn’t kiss him back with as much tenderness as usual, he didn’t think he minded either.

With Barry’s help, it took only seconds to pack Len’s bag. Lisa was up and showered, but reading a book when they knocked on her door, clearly prepared to let everyone fend for themselves for once. She smiled when she found out that the roads were clear, and put a hand on Barry’s arm, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks for putting up with my brother all week, honey,” she said, eyes sparkling. “Don’t forget your promise.”

“I’m not helping you kidnap Cisco,” Barry said, though he couldn’t help smiling anyway. She pouted, but her eyes sparkled with mischief. He could definitely see the family resemblance.

Mick just grunted and waved them off, hungover as hell.

And then there was nothing left to do but leave. Len threw his duffelbag into the back of a slick black sedan with out of state plates that Barry guessed wasn’t actually his. As they got into the car, a thought suddenly struck him. “Hey, what happened to the cuffs and chains?”

“In the bag,” Len said matter-of-factly. “I took the bomb off, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He threw the car into gear and drove out of the garage, bumping over the last bits of snow left and then onto the drive. The chalet quickly fell away behind them, while Barry stared at his lover, unsure of how to take that.

“Len, that’s not what I’m worried about,” Barry said. He was relieved that such powerful weapons against him hadn’t been left in the hands of the other Rogues, but… “Couldn’t you give them to me?”

“Why, so you can destroy them?”

“Um, _yes_.”

Len shot him a glance out of the corner of his eye, his lips curved in a smirk full of wicked promise. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Barry’s jaw dropped and he fell silent. He sat for a long while as Len drove, staring out the window as they weaved back and forth across the mountain. He could see the lights of Central City below them, getting ever closer.

Len’s hand rested on Barry’s knee, rubbing gently. Neither of them said anything until they were back at sea level and moving through the city. 

“Where do you want me to drop you off?” Len asked. “STAR Labs or home?”

Barry considered that. “Home,” he said softly. He’d call Caitlin and Cisco as soon as he had a chance, to reassure them that he was okay, but he needed to see Joe and Iris first. Assuming they were there, rather than at STAR Labs looking for him. Of course, by now they had probably given up hope of finding him.

Len nodded and turned the wheel, heading straight towards Barry’s neighbourhood. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he knew exactly where to go.

Finally, Len pulled up in front of Barry’s house and threw the car into park. The older man glanced at him, then turned towards him in his seat. Barry made no immediate move to leave. He felt like he might shatter into a million pieces. All joking about the possible uses of the cuffs aside, back at the chalet, they had talked all along as though this would be over when they left. And here they were, back in Central City.

Here Barry was, about to walk back into his life. A life where he was enemies with Captain Cold. It was agony.

Len’s cool fingertips brushed against Barry’s cheek. “Don’t you cry now,” he said. “I never know what to do with you when you cry.”

Barry could feel the tears gathering in his eyes, prickling and pounding. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. 

“Don’t be,” Len said softly. He leaned over and kissed Barry on the lips, tender and sweet and hungry. When he leaned back, he was all business. “Now,” he said, his lips crooking in a smirk. “We need to discuss how things will continue from here on out.”

Barry blinked, the unshed tears drying up. “Continue?” he echoed.

“Obviously,” Len said, arching a brow. “I did tell you you’re mine, now. I’m not giving you up because of them.” He jerked his thumb towards the house. “But don’t expect me to give up my life of crime, either.”

Barry threw himself at Len, giving him a tight, heartfelt hug. The gearshift dug into his hip, and he didn’t care. “It’s fine,” he said shakily. “We’ll figure it out.”

Len smiled and rubbed his back. Barry kissed him once, then pulled back. Something moved in the house beyond, and Barry saw Joe pull back the curtain in the front room and peer through, no doubt curious whose sedan was parked outside for so long. 

It gave Barry an idea. 

“So… it’s New Year’s Eve,” he said slowly, and Len nodded, arching a brow. “Do you want to come in and ring in the new year?”

Len stiffened. “Mr. West will undoubtedly want to arrest me,” he pointed out.

Barry shook his head. “I won’t let him. Besides, you kept me alive this week. It’s the Tricksters who kidnapped me.”

Len hesitated, then sighed through his nose and gave him a sardonic smile, reaching for the clasp of his seatbelt. “I suppose it’s only fair I spend new year’s with your family, since you spent Christmas with mine.”

Barry beamed. When they got out of the car, he grabbed Len’s hand and they walked up to the door together, side by side.

Maybe all this was just the beginning of a new tradition, after all.


End file.
